Both Sides of the Gun
by Blindfolded Angel
Summary: Piers survives the collapse of the underwater base and returns, but isn't greeted with the trust he expected. Now Chris has been assigned as his handler, and together they have to find out why a high security BSAA database has become a target. But when Chris is captured by an unlikely enemy, will Piers be able to save him when there is no one left to vouch for him in the BSAA?
1. Prologue

Chapter One:

The steak was slightly cold and definitely not cooked to any definition of the health code that Chris knew of, but he knew what he was getting into when he ordered it. Piers had warned him, after all – decent was hardly delicious. Still, he ate. It was a little harder to swallow than he would've liked to admit, whether it be because of the lack-luster taste or the bug he figured must be making his throat so tight, although he didn't remember having any trouble with it this morning.

The door to the dim bar opened, filtering in a halo of bright light as a figure appeared in the doorway. From the bulkiness of the silhouette, he knew the shadow was one of his. Confident footfalls trailed their way up to Chris' table and plunked down solidly to stand before him.

"Captain," the B.S.A.A. soldier said, "We've received new orders."

Chris looked up at him from over his meal. The man wasn't so much a man as he was the beginnings of one – his face still round with youth. He looked familiar, _like him, _but so did all the young recruits these days. The soldier was wearing a faded green scarf tucked into the neck of his uniform. _The scarf of a Second-in-Command_, Chris thought, _this must be Piers' replacement_. The thought made his food taste even more foreign.

"Right. Let's not keep them waiting, then," he said. As he stood, the younger man already began the process of walking back to the door, which had still not closed. His other men were holding those doors open, illuminating the bar for what it really was. Grey, dusty – a piece of his past to leave behind.

He threw a few bills onto the table beside his plate and made sure to leave a generous tip for the curvy waitress who kept shooting him filthy looks. She probably spat in his food given the venom in those glares, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what he had done to make his way onto her spit list. He threw another two dollars down on top of the already generous tip, just to be safe.

When he looked up, his new Second was looking back at him from the doorway. His stance was not impatient – the soldier was still too new to feel comfortable being impatient with him – but he definitely seemed excited to be out onto the field in his new position. Chris could sympathize, he had had that feeling once, too.

He allowed his fingers to trail idly along the rough wood of the table before taking his first few steps away from it. Away from the bar and from the past, and into the future he had promised to maintain and protect. Each step away made him feel more solid, more in control as he made amends with what he was leaving behind. Seeing the eager faces of his new team – young men and women ready to prove themselves to him and to humanity – confirmed in him what Piers had known all along. The B.S.A.A. needed him for whatever reason he couldn't fathom. His very presence seemed to make a difference. If that was all they needed, he'd make sure his presence was as strong as he could bare to make it be.

Halfway to the door, his pocket rumbled agitatedly. He paused and pulled out his phone. The screen displayed 'Unidentified Number' in large, blocky text. Chris studied those two words for a moment before answering the phone.

"Chris Redfield, B.S.A.A."

There was a breathy pause, and then, "You stayed?"

It sounded more like a relieved observation than a question, and that coupled with the voice made his blood run colder than his steak he had been served.

"Who is this?" Chris said. He could feel his blood thumping thickly in his neck, pulsing through his veins painfully. Anger made his blood boil – if this was some sort of prank or cruel trick...

"Captain, I... It's me. Piers."

Chris nearly snarled, but bit his cheek before the savage sound could escape his lips in front of his new recruits. They needed a composed leader, not an easily provoked one. He couldn't be what he had been anymore.

He took two deep breathes through his nose before speaking. "Piers Nivans died two weeks ago. He died bravely, so if you're trying to strip even an ounce of honor away from his name with this sick joke, so help me—"

"Ask me anything, Captain. I swear it's me."

"I'm not playing this game with you. He was killed by God knows how much pressure, among other things. He's dead, you're not him."

"Captain Redfield?" Came a hesitant call from the doorway. His Second-in-Command looked concerned. Chris placed his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone as he spoke to him.

"Take the men to the vehicle and let HQ know we're mounting up. I'll wrap this up and be there shortly."

The sudden emergence of an order put his team at ease. Eager to obey, they left the bar and closed the door behind them, taking the light from outside with them. The bar was suddenly several shades darker than he ever could remember it being.

"You have a new team."

"That's none of your concern," Chris said, "I am. What're you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything. Please, just hear me out. I woke up on a fisherman's boat. They didn't speak English, so I don't know how or when they found me. They took me with them back to shore and this really nice ol—_gentlemen_ let me borrow his phone," Piers said quickly, then added under his breath so that the owner of the phone wouldn't hear, "Thank God everything looks normal now, they probably would've just thrown me back overboard if I had looked the way I did, you know… before."

And that made Chris' boiling blood creep to a standstill. Nowhere in his reports had he mentioned Piers' infection. Being the only one to have witnessed it, Chris didn't want that decision, no matter how noble, to slander his name or reputation. The higher-ups tended to get caught up on minute details like that. Keeping that information a secret was the difference between Piers' getting buried with full honors and a Purple Heart, and Piers never having existed in the B.S.A.A. at all. After everything, Chris' couldn't bear to think of that happening on top of everything else. A person who devoted his all and died for his country should in turn be honored by his country.

So no one knew. Not even Jill.

Chris swallowed. "What did you say?"

"I said these fishermen found me and brought me to shore—"

Chris cut him off. "—What did you give me when you died?"

"Uh, Captain?"

"If you want to prove that you're who you claim you are, then answer me. What did you give me?"

"My patch," the other man said after a short, stunned pause, "From my sleeve."

"Don't hang up the phone," Chris ordered as he pulled back to look at the screen of his own. The B.S.A.A. kept assigning him new phones with newer and fancier functions, each one more fragile than the last. Whenever budget cuts came up in meetings, Chris was always the first one to mention the frivolous contraptions because, honestly, what soldier has time to play Angry Pigeons, or whatever it was called, while shooting a Licker? No one alive, that much he was certain of. But after this moment, Chris swore he would never complain about his inability to keep one in one piece for longer than one mission ever again.

He put the phone on speaker and pressed the small icon on the screen that allowed agents to back trace their calls. A program popped up and Chris watched as the loading bar slowly tracked his formerly dead partner down.

Then the program pinged, and as his partner's location appeared on the screen, Chris took his first breath in a world where Piers Nivans was not dead.

"I have your location," Chris said, "Stay where you are, I'm coming for you."

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's short. I work, among other things, so all chapters will probably be short, but I endeavor to update often so hopefully that makes up for it. Just a few things I couldn't fit in the summary - there will probably be no pairings. That might change in later chapters (there may be some hints of JillxChris and JakexSherry). Otherwise, this is just for fun and to help me practice up for NANOWRIMO. :)


	2. Men of Action

Chapter 2: Men of Action

It took a while for the B.S.A.A. to finally catch up with Piers, but when Chris Redfield said he was coming for him, he definitely meant it. When three helicopters came roaring into the skyline on the shore of China, Piers felt something in him still. The B.S.A.A. had come for him ‒ they were willing to send so many men to come and just _pick him up. _The corners of his lips pulled into a stunned smile as Piers' only family came to a hovering halt on that Chinese beach.

The wings of the copters blew sand everywhere, and the young man had to shield his eyes with the sleeve that hadn't been torn off. As the copter blades slowed down to large, heavy woofs, he looked up to see the door of the middle helicopter opening.

When Chris first stepped out, he looked around with squinty eyes as he tried to see through the sudden exposure to sunlight. When his eyes finally fell upon Piers, the calm and detached expression he always wore on missions did not fade. The lack of a smile, of anything, made Piers hesitate. He unconsciously reached for his right hand, afraid that it had somehow spontaneously mutated during his shock at seeing so many men come for him.

'_Did they send those men,' _Piers wondered, '_To ensure my safe return, or to ensure the safety of China?' _

But when his fingers touched his own skin, all he felt was the normal texture of his human arm. No mutations. He had not gotten the chance to look in a mirror during his two weeks at sea with those men, but he figured that if they had not thrown him immediately overboard, he must not look too bad.

But seeing the slight frown that twitched across his captain's face made him think otherwise.

Before he could even call out to the other man, Chris was purposefully stomping his way across the sand between them. No gun, Piers noted, but he couldn't help but feel anxious as Chris Redfield stopped just in front of him and appraised him with hard eyes. He suddenly felt very small beneath that gaze.

Piers had only prayed a handful of times in his life. He had prayed once for his mom to get better, which hadn't happen. He had prayed again to be accepted into the B.S.A.A., which had. He had prayed to find his captain safe when the guilt-ridden amnesiac had suddenly disappeared, and he had prayed that when he was infected, he would be able to hold on to his sense of self just long enough to ensure his captain made it to safety. While he wasn't sure what he believed in, he did believe that three out of four wasn't too bad.

So now he prayed that he passed whatever test Chris Redfield was silently putting him through, because if he wasn't Piers Nivans and if he's wasn't B.S.A.A. through and through, he didn't know who he was. Just as he was about to open his mouth, to say anything to break the heavy burden of silence, Chris reached up and grasped him by each shoulder. He could feel the scratchy texture of the other man's glove on his bare right shoulder, rasping against his now normal skin. Then that hand squeezed a little harder before it moved firmly to the back of his neck. The weight of his hand was heavy and reassuring as he shook him just a little bit to get his attention.

_And then that hand squeezed, despite the infectious and mutated skin he knew Chris could feel there. His captain gently shook him to grab his attention, and so that he had to look at the other man's eye as he said, "We're both getting out of here, alright?"_

"Come on," Chris said now, and squeezed his neck reassuringly as he finally smiled. "Let's get you back to the B.S.A.A. ‒ to where you belong."

And finally, Piers let out a shaky breath and smiled as Chris took him by his bare elbow and led him back to the men who were waiting by the standard B.S.A.A. helicopters. As he approached, the men hollered at him victoriously, happy to see the return of one of their own. The triumph over death made all the men boisterous and excited, and soldiers that Piers had never even seen before clapped him on the back with kind words of praise and awe.

He didn't feel deserving, and it wasn't what he expected. Fear, maybe. Disgust. But these men treated him like a hero as he stepped wearily onto the helicopter, and he had to admit ‒ it felt nice. Once the other men piled in, Chris slid the copter door shut with a hearty thunk and leaned back into his seat across from Piers. When he caught his gaze, he gave him a reassuring smile and said, "Let's go home."

"Yes, sir," Piers said, and wondered if this was how Chris felt whenever the recruits said these things to him. Like a hero.

The trip back had been a long one. The helicopter took them to an airport, which then got them on a plane headed back to B.S.A.A. headquarters. Chris had brought a replacement uniform for him, which he gladly changed into at the first opportunity to do so. Being rid of the clothes he had almost became a monster in was more than liberating, it was damn near exhilarating. He couldn't get the smelly, ruined clothing off fast enough. He threw the bloody, tattered remains of his old uniform in the trash and quickly splashed his face with water. When he straightened before the mirror and dried his face, it was to the greeting an unfamiliar reflection.

Chris hadn't given him a clue as to what he would find. Based off the man's stern and motionless expression, Piers' would never have guessed at what he ended up seeing in the mirror. But the captain was used to everything and anything. Of course he didn't say, "Hey Piers, glad you're alive. Don't know if you noticed, but you've got one hell of a wicked awesome scar to tell the ladies about now, kid."

But that was exactly what he had, a wicked awesome scar trailing from just above his left eyebrow, down through the middle of the bridge of his nose, and just under his right eye. He knew what the dark brown scar was from; he could remember the shearing pain of it. There had been no normal cause for the wound, nothing had actually cut into his face like that. It was the mutation _pulling _his skin apart _from the inside._

He let his fingers ‒ hyper sensitive from their rebirth ‒ trail across the vivid and angry looking scar. Which brought his attention to his right eye. He could remember not being able to see out of it, towards the end. If he weren't so concerned with becoming infected, changing into a monster, and trying to control the urge to kill the man he was trying to save, he would have been terrified of the feeling of slowly losing his eyesight. He was just glad that the only damage that had been left behind was that the iris had permanently turned an eerie shade of blue on that side. He could see still see ‒ better than ever, in fact ‒ but the color was disconcerting, and he wondered if any of the other men even thought to question it.

But that was the extent of it. The scar and the change in iris color. He should be grateful for that, if nothing else, he thought as he watched himself ball his human hands into fists and then unclench. He could've washed ashore as a monster. His arm could still be a claw. Electricity could still sing to him in that disconcerting and beautiful way, leaping to his fingers eagerly at his call ‒ ready to obey him like the recruits that followed the captain like puppies…

A knock on the bathroom door made him jerk, and a feeling guilt washed over him for thinking those thoughts. The plane was classy, classier than any flight he had ever been on before. The B.S.A.A. had booked a large suite-like area on the second floor of the plane for them. Most of the men were in the other room watching TV and playing cards, but Chris had remained in the room attached to the bathroom as he cleaned his guns.

It must have been Chris knocking now, he rationalized as he opened the door. When he did, it was to see his Captain standing there. He should've known from the fact that Chris had been cleaning his guns that he felt guilty about something ‒ it was a sign as clear as someone twitching when they had a good hand or a bad bluff in poker.

The door to their half of the suite was closed, and Chris looked less confident than he had back on that beach appraising him.

"Captain?"

"I wanted to wait to tell you… Give you time to readjust and settle in, but I don't feel comfortable waiting when we don't know what sort of condition the virus has put you in," he said. Piers stiffened. He knew it would get to this eventually. Of course they wouldn't just let an infected man walk free like nothing had happened. He knew before he even called Chris that there would be consequences for his actions, and he had made his peace with that fact. He'd submit to whatever they needed him to do if it meant proving that he was still the man he was before what happened in that underwater facility.

"It's okay, I understand. The B.S.A.A. can run whatever tests they've got planned, I'll let them do anything they need to do to clear me for duty," he said, "Just… Don't tell me I can't come back."

"What? No, that's not ‒ It's not that simple. Piers, I… In my report, when I told them you saved my life, I didn't tell them in what condition you were in when you did it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that as of right now, the only people who know that you're infected are standing in this room."

Piers felt a heavy tension in his shoulders he hadn't felt since his captain finally let go of his vendetta against Ada Wong and remembered that the B.S.A.A. and the world came first. He took a step forward as he growled, "You withheld information from the B.S.A.A.?"

"I didn't think you were alive! All I knew was that we had to bury you and if I had told them what really happened, they would have pretended like you were never there at all. I couldn't let that happen, you deserved more than that."

That calmed him down. He didn't agree with his captain; he didn't think he was more important than the integrity of the B.S.A.A., but he couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same if their roles had been reversed.

So he just nodded his head with a grimace.

"Okay," he said, "So what do we do now?"

Chris gave him another one of the guilty looks he could still remember so vividly from across the table at that bar he found him in several months ago.

"We have to find out to what extent you're infected, and to do that‒"

"‒We have to tell the B.S.A.A., yeah," Piers said.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's the best option. For the B.S.A.A. and for me. If it comes back or if I can't control it, I want to be surrounded by the people who can handle it. People I trust. It's better than me losing it on the street or something."

There was a pause, and Piers could tell his captain was at a loss for what to say. Chris was never a man who could explain or even express his thoughts and feelings well. He was a man of action, and he made up for his mistakes not with words, but with action. Even in front of Jake Muller he never said, "I killed your father because he was a crazy bastard that intended to destroy the world" or "Your father was the one responsible for the deaths and suffering of countless people, including the men and women he trained". No, he did what he felt he had to in order to make amends with a boy who had lost his father at Chris' hands. He stayed still.

And for Piers, he stayed with the B.S.A.A.

"We'll tell them together," Chris said, his determined mask back. "I'll be there every step of the way."

"Thanks, Captain."


	3. 2 Months Later

**Two Months Later**

Gun shots echoed like banshee screams in the large room. The two agents were in what used to be the lobby of a fancy hotel; fancy to the point that it was at least one star above Chris' budget on a good day, and he was paid quite well considering. The staircase was made up of intricate wood carvings of angels and fat cherubs, all leading to the grand upper floor that overlooked the entire lobby. The ceiling was painted over a mirrored coating, creating an eerie effect as the flickering, broken lights reflected off of the colors and swirling brushstrokes ominously. The telling crunch of claws sinking into the glass and marble beneath the mirrors made Chris turn his aim from the horde of zombies steadily advancing towards them to the lizard-like Strelats crawling towards their position.

"Piers, B.O.W.s overhead," Chris shouted over barks of gunfire as he started to unload his machine gun ammo into the creatures while they were still too far away to send their noxious spikes his way. Shards of mirrors fell with a surreal tinkling sound as jagged, infected bodies were dislodged from the high ceiling. Their impact with the floor left the marble splintered and broken.

Piers continued to spray a mist of covering fire into the horde ahead as Chris switched to a gun with a better scope and began to pick off the recovering B.O.W.s one by one.

"Captain, we can't stay here. The extraction point is through the window in the upstairs ballroom. We need to make our way there before we run out of time," Piers said between bursts of chattering fire.

With one last shot between the eye, the older man put down the remaining B.O.W. The carcasses of the three creatures laid there twitching and dissolving into poisonous goo as the two men quickly ran through a thin patch in the horde and past the corpses. Chris covered the front with quick, little bursts of controlled gunfire as Piers continued to unload a heavy spray of cover fire behind them, his back to Chris as they moved.

"Stairs," Chris said to Piers as they reached the main staircase. The younger man slowly took the stairs one at a time as he continued his trek backwards, all the while keeping an eye on the marching line of dead victims ambling their way towards them. Every time one picked up their pace even just a hair, the marksman felled it with a quick burst of fire through the face.

As the infected agent covered their retreat, Chris made it to the top of the stairs and grabbed the door handle to the ballroom.

"Piers," he said, and braced himself against the door as he waited for Piers to turn his attention to their new objective.

"On it," the man said as he sent one last zombie toppling down the staircase, taking out a few others along the way. He turned his aim to the doorway, ready to open fire as Chris quickly kicked it open with a splintering shove of his boot and went inside.

"Clear," he said, and Piers quickly followed. The young gunman quickly closed the doors behind him as Chris grabbed a chair to pin them in place. A few moments later, several hands began to beat a desperate, unsynchronized rhythm against the door, rocking it uselessly with their needy hands.

"We have to get through the large window on the far side. It overlooks the courtyard where the extraction point is," Piers said as he pulled up his phone to confirm their location.

"How come I get the feeling that this is the unconventional method of reaching the extraction point?"

"Because this is the unconventional method of reaching the extraction point," Piers said, "Otherwise known as the awesome way." He quickly put his phone back into his pocket, frowning when a little symbol appeared saying his phone was about to die for the fifth time that day. Static lingered at his fingertips when he pulled away.

"My knees are getting too old for this," Chris grumbled as he scanned the dark room with the flashlight attached to his gun.

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Captain. I've only heard your knees crack once during this whole mission."

"I think that's more a testament to your bad hearing than a compliment to my age," he said, "Come on, let's get this over with."

Their footsteps echoed painfully as they stepped onto the beautifully ornate dance floor, and both men felt their insides twisting at their inability to mask the sound of their progress. Ahead of them was a giant window, it's intricate panes overlooking the courtyard just as the howling of B.S.A.A. chopper blades landing sounded in the large room. The men watched as the helicopter landed in the courtyard, ready to take them out of there.

The sight of another B.S.A.A. team made them speed up their gate a bit, eager to be out the window and to their destination. With one last look around their surroundings, Chris motioned for Piers to run ahead to the window. As the younger man jogged forward, Chris turned his back to the other man and covered their retreat.

Just as Piers was reaching up to investigate the chain and padlock barring the large window leading out to the small terrace, the ceiling began to crackle in the middle of the ballroom as something crashed into it from the other side. Chris quickly aimed the flashlight of his gun at the ceiling, watching as hairline cracks shattered the wings of painted cherubs and sent peels of painted ceiling crashing down. Another large crash caused even more of the ceiling to come crumbling down upon the middle of the dance floor.

"Piers," Chris said as the ceiling shook again with another rumbling thump. "Get that window open and lets go."

Another slam into the ceiling above left them stumbling slightly below. The crack then spread from the epicenter of the hits out towards the sides of the room, shooting through the frame of the window and splintering the panes with the force of it. With a quick leap, Piers was able to knock both himself and Chris out of the way just in time to avoid a large piece of ceiling as it fell down upon the spot they had been standing in. The two men landed heavily a few feet away and looked back to see large, jagged pieces of marble and plaster barricading the way.

"Now what?" Piers asked.

"We‒"

The sound of the ceiling finally collapsing ripped the sound of Chris' response from the air. The agents quickly covered their heads as plaster and stone from the ceiling fell in crumbles around them. In the roar of the collapse, Chris was sure he heard Piers yelp from somewhere beside him, but couldn't move well enough with all the dust and debris still falling to tell.

"Piers?!"

When the last of the ceiling finally came to a halt on the floor, the older man slowly lifted his hands away from his head minutely enough to look around without giving himself away. An action that saved his life as he spotted the huge B.O.W. that had caused the commotion to start with.

It was akin to a Strelat like the ones they had faced outside ‒ dangerous lizard-like creatures with wickedly pointed spikes along their spines ‒ but unlike them, the one that had landed mere feet away from them was at least three times their average size. Its scaly hide was black in color as compared to the muddy green color of the other Strelats, and in contrast to their instinctive fight or flight nature, Chris could see an unsettling form of intelligence in this one's orange eyes.

It didn't shriek like the others would have, nor did it immediately start crawling towards the ceiling as the others were prone to doing out of comfort. This Strelat simply sat there and watched them with an eerie sort of detachment, waiting for them to move. Chris could see the calm heaves of its rib-cage moving beneath the skin of its sides, and he could hear the clicking of the spikes lining its spine as it moved.

Without moving enough to provoke it, the older man quickly turned his attention to Piers who was trying to keep calm beneath the rubble pinning his right shoulder to the ground. The younger man's gaze found his, eyes wild. Chris realized that Piers couldn't tell what had fallen through due to the rubble blocking his vision. All he knew was that they were not alone in that ballroom, and that he was pinned to the floor. Chris shook his head very slowly as he saw Piers begin to struggle, boats squealing against the floor as they flailed for purchase against anything that would help. At the end of the piece of rubble pinning the young man, the B.S.A.A. captain could see his hand clenching and unclenching wildly. Piers was panicking.

And all the movement was attracting undesired attention. The large Strelat curiously cocked its head as it watched Piers struggle, and then took one massively long step towards them. The footfall reverberated in the floor, making Piers still, but Chris could still hear the other man's haggard breathing.

With two deep breaths, Chris twisted fluidly from his back to a crouching position, and during the twist that faced him in the giant lizard's direction, he calmly pulled a grenade from the back of his belt, removed the pin, and threw it to a clattering halt at the monster's feet. As the small explosive went off, Chris was already across the floor to where Piers was pinned and began pushing the debris off the smaller man. As soon as the weight was removed, the sniper rolled out from under the ruble and onto his feet with a disoriented wobble.

Time slowed as the Strelat sang a bloodthristy cry into the air. Chris was already running towards the other gunman when he noticed the way Piers was cradling his abused right arm, the limb shaking like a leaf in his grasp. He grabbed the man by his good wrist and quickly yanked him along as he dodged his way through debris to the upper floor that ringed the dance floor.

"Get your head out of your ass and move, Piers!" Chris shouted.

The captain didn't have to say anything else as he let go of the man's wrist. Just like that, the gunman he knew returned ‒ rifle out ‒ and released a hail of cover fire into the Strelat that had scrambled up the stairs behind them. That left the monster reeling, particularly when a well-fired shot found a new home in the creature's left eye. It squealed in pain as it tumbled with flailing limbs down the stairs, destroying quite a few steps in the process. The agents kept running, aiming to round back towards the upper part of the window by circling through the entirety of the ring-like upper balcony.

Poisonous needles began to patter into the wall behind them as they ran, the creature firing the noxious darts out of its obscenely large gullet from below. But on the two men ran, not even bothering to slow to return fire.

Just as they were finally rounding back towards the window, the creature below ceased its firing and performed a long, twirling arc on the floor. It's tail spun out from the arc and hit one of the main beams supporting the floor just under the spot that was attached to the window. The second floor balcony the agent were on shook as that beam collapsed, and with it, the part of the floor it had been attached to.

The part of the floor Chris had been running on.

Piers, just a few steps behind, came to a halt with outstretched fingers just as Chris lost his footing and began to slide down with the now heavily slanted floor. Below the broken slab of flooring, the Strelat prowled eagerly. It snapped its teeth in anticipation as Chris pulled out his knife and quickly drilled it into the floor before he could fall the rest of the way off the now vertical platform and into the creature's awaiting jaws.

The Strelat howled in impatience and leapt up onto the bit of railing hanging mere feet above it. The wooden railing splintered beneath its weight, and the entire floor shook as it threatened to fall to the ground completely.

"Piers, for God's sake, shoot it!" Chris shouted as the B.O.W. opened its mouth to fire another hail of darts into the man hanging helplessly before it. Piers took a deep breath as he made sure to aim the rifle perfectly at the foggy, pustule like sac that hung at the back of the B.O.W.'s throat, but before he could even fire at the organ, the entire complex shuddered.

The walls flexed inwards, than outwards with a sigh before crumbling into a mess of white shards that slowly advanced towards them. Those shards stripped away the carpeting, the intricate walls, the beautiful painting, the blood ‒ and in their place, Piers saw nothing but the plain white floor of the B.S.A.A. holographic testing chamber. He watched as the B.O.W. exploded into a thousand white digital splinters and Chris slid lamely down the false floor he had been hanging on to land softly on the padded floor below.

Piers removed the digital headset that had been covering his eyes, marveling that the gun he had been looking at in his own hands mere seconds ago was replaced with air in reality. He quickly put the training device down on the ground and pulled at the collar of his uniform to inspect where the rubble had "damaged" his right arm.

There was no discoloration to speak of, the arm looked as it always did since he awoke that day in the fishermen's boat. Normal. Human. Not a claw like he feared it would be. He felt his heart stabilize in his chest, calm now that he knew the trauma he received in the digital world had not affected him here.

But thinking of his fear made him remember his reaction to the trauma in the first place ‒ panic. If Chris had not been there, he would have failed that simulation. And now the fear of proving those B.S.A.A. scientists right was replaced with the fear that the simulation had ended early because they had seen all they needed to see. His jury and executioners had made their decision, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But he would not give them the satisfaction of losing it now. If they had decided they had seen enough, then fine. He'd enjoy his last few free moments while he could. He walked over to the collapsed floor and slid down it to his captain, landing beside him with a oomph. Chris had not moved since sliding down himself, and at the sudden appearance of the infected man beside him he let slip a masked smile of confidence.

"Could've been worse," he said, "But I think we had it under control."

"I was going to shoot it."

"I know," Chris said and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it took Jill a while to get back into the swing of things, too. They were patient with her and they'll be patient with you. I'm sure the brass have a good reason for ending the training exercise early."

Despite his worried frown, Piers nodded in response. He trusted his captain's words, particularly now. He had to. If Chris was wrong, it felt like the world might shatter beneath him. Life as a test subject ‒ the mere thought of it made his insides squirm mournfully. He shuddered.

The young man tried to ignore the sympathetic look his captain shot him then, and looked up as the doors on the far side of the huge test chamber opened. The dark uniforms of the men and women advancing towards them stood out starkly against the bright white walls and floors of the training facility. At the head of the small group of guards was a middle aged, sharp looking woman. Her hawkish features and pale skin matched the taut bun of her graying hair. Her eerily pale eyes locked on them as she made her way across the facility to where they sat, her guards at attention behind her.

Neither man bothered to stand as they caught their breath. One too weary and the other too nervous to manage it. The new director, replacement for former Director Clive O'Brian, didn't bother address the small act of insubordination as she came to a stop a few feet from them.

"Gentlemen," Director Dian Page said, "A situation has arisen that has caused us to cut your exercise short, as you no doubt noticed."

Piers felt the suffocating fear that was oppressing his heart vanish. This wasn't about his performance in the ballroom.

"What's the situation?" Chris asked.

"Jill Valentine has just reported that the high security B.S.A.A. stronghold in Washington, DC has just been breached. It is unknown as of this moment what sort of act of terrorism is at hand, but I need the best of the B.S.A.A. to respond to it… And despite the circumstances, you two are some of the best." The director then pulled a handgun from the holster around her waist and handed it barrel first to Piers. "We have decided in lieu of your honorable history with the B.S.A.A. that we will accept the terms Captain Redfield proposed in our meeting this morning. You are officially returned to active duty, Agent Nivans, under the condition that you respond solely and indefinitely to Captain Redfield's command. You will become a two-person unit separate from the regular B.S.A.A. teams."

Piers reached up for the gun ‒ the first real gun he had held in the weeks since his voluntary incarceration with the B.S.A.A. ‒ and tried not to gape. "I‒ Thank you, Madam Director."

She turned her hard gaze from Piers to Chris.

"You are hereby held responsible for this man, Captain Redfield, as you were for Agent Jill Valentine after her return from Africa. Your reports are to be made daily unless on a mission, and it is you who will be held reliable should your judgment be wrong about this man. We are trusting your word as one of the co-founders of the B.S.A.A. I pray you are not wrong."

"I'm not."

She left her gaze to sear into Chris for a moment, but the thirty-nine-year-old simply stared at the same way he had stared down countless B.O.W.s. Finally her gaze relented and she straightened herself before them.

"No use wasting any more time, then. Don't bother removing your gear. Captain Redfield, make sure Agent Nivans has whatever weaponry you feel comfortable giving him, then meet Agent Valentine at the Chopper in Hanger Bay B. She'll debrief you on the way."

As the director turned to leave, Chris stopped her.

"Madam Director, when you say the stronghold in DC… are you insinuating‒?"

"‒Yes, Captain Redfield. I am."

Then the director was walking away again, never once looking back. Faster than Piers had anticipated, Captain Redfield was suddenly on his feet. He had a uneasy and knowing light in his eyes that Piers hadn't seen since the day he had watched the man uselessly slam his fists against the windows of the escape pod he had forced him in. Chris knew something that he didn't. Something important.

When the older man extended his hand out to him, Piers took it.

"Captain, what's going on?" He asked as he was pulled to his feet.

"There's a mole in the B.S.A.A."

* * *

[a/n] So the weekends will probably be when I have the most trouble uploading, just in case anyone was wondering why there was a delay between this Chapter and the last one. I have more time during the weekdays, in all honesty. Just fyi, in case you were wondering. :)


	4. Titanic's Fall

Chapter 4: Titanic's Fall

The heavy beating of the chopper blades thrummed through Chris' heart as they hovered over the helipad to the B.S.A.A.'s Washington, DC, base. The evening sky was fading into a rusty red as the sun bled its way down past the horizon, outlining the Washington Monument in a halo of fire. Chris watched it for a long moment as he leaned against the open helicopter door, only blinking when Piers firmly shook him by one shoulder.

"Time to go, Captain," he said as he stepped out of the helicopter. Jill was already out of the chopper's pilot seat on the landing pad besides Piers. She was a brunette again, but by the way her roots were slowly beginning to bleed out, the older man knew that she had dyed it. Her blue eyes stopped and lingered on him when she felt him looking at her, but neither mentioned it. Jill just redirected her attention back to Piers as she pulled out a small device from her pack.

As Chris walked up next to her, she turned it on. Out from the small box-like device sprung a hologram with a detailed map of each floor of the complex. With the slightest touch of her fingers, Jill skillfully manipulated the map to show exactly what she wanted. Hallways grew and shrank at her fingers' beck and call.

"We've already contacted the President. He's assigned us a group from the Secret Service to directly respond to the threat. They're currently holed up outside the building and waiting for the security system's lockdown to time out, which should be any minute now," Jill said as she highlighted the infiltration team's intended path. "They are going to handle the infection and make sure that whatever happened in the building dies in the building."

"So we're not addressing the infection with them? What's our objective?" Piers asked.

"We'll be entering from the roof," she said as she pointed it out in the maps and expanded the helipad. "This way we're closer to our objective ‒ the fifth floor."

"What's on the fifth floor?"

"The entire collective intelligence gathered by the B.S.A.A., the US Government's National Security sects, and various other organizations," Chris said.

"Everything…" Piers said, looking between them. "_All_ of our information… Why the hell is all of our information in one place?"

"Think of it like a backup hard drive. We have this information in various different bases and organizations, but all of it is collectively stored in one place as well."

"Still, all in one place?"

"It isn't like it isn't well defended, Agent Nivans," Jill said as she looked at him with an unamused face. "As of right now we know that the fifth floor has not been accessed, nor has its air quality or any of the information suffered during the span of the outbreak."

"How do you know that?" Piers asked from where he knelt on the helipad ground. He reached out for the hologram and gently touched the fifth floor. The security readings then popped up along the side: _Outbreak Code 5, infectious toxin detected on this floor. Do not enter building until all air has been cleared for safe inhalation. Current ETA is 5 minutes and counting. Caution, Outbreak Code 5‒ _"That hardly looks unaffected to me."

"That's not the fifth floor," Chris said as he stepped up beside Piers and brushed the selected floor away. He then pulled up the full map again and touched both the fifth and fourth floors. With just the spreading of his fingers, he zoomed in on the space between these two floors and pointed to a door in-between the two levels of the elevator shaft. "That is the fifth floor."

"No soul in this building knows that it even exists. Nobody assigned to this building has ever been in it. Only a small handful of people in all of the B.S.A.A. have even been in it, including Former Director O'Brian and I.T. Director John Sikes," Jill said as she turned off the device. "The floor is built with an intricate security system. The walls are practically camera lenses ‒ they see everything. The floor's camera feed is then monitored by a special team of security personnel who do not know where the facility is, all they know is to press the red button if anything is wrong."

"And they are monitored and protected by ISAAC and ICARUS from within, too," Chris said.

"Who?"

"ISAAC ‒ Intelligence Security Autonomous Artificial Collective, our security agent assigned to the protection of the data, and ICARUS ‒ Interagency Cooperative Assimilation Regent and Unit Security, responsible for filtering and maintaining all the information that comes in. They're artificially intelligent systems created to protect the information housed on that floor," Jill explained.

"So let me get this straight, all of our collective intelligence on every bioterrorism attack is stored all on one floor, and it's guarded by robots. You expect me to believe that?"

"You're the equivalent of a human light bulb, right? It shouldn't be so hard to understand," Jill said. Piers gaped at her.

"Jill, please," Chris warned, then turned to Piers, "You need to understand, this system isn't new. It's been in effect for over a decade and has kept all of our information safe. It's our Titanic, Piers. No one thought it would come to this."

At that moment, the box that the female agent was holding began to blink red.

"All contaminants have been cleansed from the air. Please proceed with caution," a voice said calmly from the box.

"Alright, that's our cue. It's our job to go in, get the information, destroy what we can't carry, and return what we can to the B.S.A.A. We are not to stop for any reasons," Jill said and looked at Chris, "Director's orders."

"Understood."

"Then let's move," she said and put the device back in her pack. Below they could hear the sound of the front doors being blasted open as the infiltration team entered the ground floor.

Jill quickly ran to the stairwell door attached to the rooftop, the men right on her heels. The door opened easily now that the shutdown was over, and Jill kicked it in with ease. The moment the door was open, all three agents had their guns aiming into the stairwell, but nothing was there. Inside the light flickered warily, its fluorescent hum unsettling. Jill exchanged a silent look with both men before heading inside. Piers followed, then Chris. The stairwell door shut with a heavy clank behind them.

* * *

The halls of the falsely named fifth floor were just as barren as the seventh and eighth. That wasn't to say there were no bodies, because there were plenty. The men and women of the Washington, DC, B.S.A.A. Recruiting, Marketing, and Business Management Head Quarters all sat at their respective desks, motionless in death. Some of them had collapsed onto the ground while on their way to grab water or to visit another desk. Others were slumped in their chairs as if sleeping. The agents found them slumped against walls and laid over tables. All dead and none of them reanimated.

Upon finding the first of the victims, Piers had shot it out of habit. The force of the shot had sent the body tumbling, but it did nothing more. Blood oozed out sluggishly and stained the carpet, but nothing else happened. The other corpses were not suddenly awakened by the noise, nor did anyone move. The lack of response was almost more unsettling to the three agents than if one of the bodies hadmoved.

Chris grabbed him by the shoulder and squeezed.

"I think they're really just dead…" he said.

Jill knelt down beside one and gently moved the body this way and that with the barrel of her gun as she examined it. There were no sores, none of the flesh was giving way beneath the pressure of that simple touch, nor did the corpse appear to be an incubator for anything else to come. The body was ashen and cooling, but otherwise no different than any other dead body.

They were all simply dead.

"Maybe it was just a typical toxin," Jill said as she stood.

"A B.S.A.A. base gets attacked and you expect me to believe a biohazard isn't the cause of it?" Chris said as he examined a corpse beside him that had its hand locked with another's, both of them hunched up together in a corner. He grimaced.

"At least they actually died… They didn't have to experience the horror of an actual bioterrorist attack," Piers said as he stopped beside his captain, eyes on the couple in the corner.

"Every act of terrorism is a horrible one," Chris said, "Just because they didn't eat each other doesn't mean these people were any less frightened."

"That's not what I‒"

"‒I know. Come on; let's just get to the fifth floor."

"Don't let your guard down just because these guys aren't dancing," Jill said as she passed them and walked to the elevator, "It could be a new virus. Something that takes longer."

"Right, better to be cautious," Chris said as he straightened his grip on his gun and moved to cover their backs as Piers and Jill then manually forced the elevator doors open. Once the doors had been opened, the box chirped from within Jill's pack.

"Elevator door forced open on level 5.5," the voice said, "Please confirm."

Piers wedged himself between the doors to ensure they stayed open as Jill withdrew and pulled out the box once more. She held it up in her palm and said, "This is Agent Jill Valentine with Agents Piers Nivans and Chris Redfield. We were sent to retrieve the information held on the fifth floor."

And then the voice changed from the automatic, cool tone of the female voice to that of a young man.

"Yes, we've been notified of your coming and have been expecting you," the voice said with no more emotion than the last voice had provided.

"So we're clear to come down?" Jill asked.

"Yes, just give me a moment to disable the explosives along the entrance corridor," the voice said, "Alright, yes. You're clear to come down now. A hand print will be required in order to proceed past the door. Protocol. I'm sure you understand."

"We'll be there shortly."

Then Jill turned off the device and returned it to her pack. When she turned around, Chris was already walking towards the elevator shaft. The huge cord that operated the elevators hung before them just a little ways out of reach. With his flashlight, Chris then scanned the walls of the elevator just below them. The light passed over normal looking elevator walls until finally it exposed a small symbol on the far wall ‒ a globe with a wreath of ivy at its top and "B.S.A.A." through its middle.

"That's our door," Chris said as he took a few steps back. Piers let go of the elevator doors to see if they would hold in place, and when they did he quickly got out of the way. Once the way was clear, Chris took three large steps and leapt across the elevator opening. His large hands latched onto the elevator rope tightly and he held on as he waited for the rope's swaying to even out. Then the older agent allowed himself to slide down a little bit until he was even with the symbol on the wall. With one hand extended, he pressed the flat of his palm overtop the logo. A moment later a square that was just barely bigger than Chris' hand began to glow where he had touched the wall. A light from within the hidden ID pad then scanned his hand twice before fading again.

"Access accepted," the voice said, "Welcome, Former Director Redfield."

"Former director?" Piers whispered from the elevator doorway just as the wall next to the symbol shifted and split, its walls opening like the lens of a camera to reveal a hallway within. The captain then swung himself into the hallway and rolled to a neat stop, gun ready. With the hallway clear just as the security intelligence had promised it would be, he signaled for the other two to follow. Chris hadn't even fully turned around yet before he came nose to nose with a man who looked no older than a college student.

The man was tall, as tall as Chris at least, and had short scruffy hair. He wore a hoodie that had no logo upon it and jeans that looked ages old. His hooded lids hid sharp, icy green eyes that stared at the three agents with an alien sort of intelligence that made the older man's insides squirm. He wasn't human.

"Hello, Former Director Redfield," the man said. Chris scowled.

"I was barely a director for a week and that was years ago, you really don't need to call me that."

"We were programmed to know and respect all of the Directors, Former Director Redfield," the man replied and stared at him through icy, hooded eyes. "Special Agent Valentine, B.O.W. Piers Nivans, please follow me."

And with that, the tall youth turned on his heel and walked down the corridor. Piers growled at him from behind Chris.

"I'm not a B.O.W.!" Piers said as he lunged forward, but didn't get far due to a lack of room in the small hallway combined with his captain being in the way. Chris didn't allow the younger man to squirm through, either. He stayed firm until he knew Piers wouldn't do something stupid like attack the strongest security unit in the B.S.A.A. for calling him what his file identified him as ‒ a B.O.W.

"Calm down," Chris said, "ISAAC is just doing what he was programmed to do. It's not personal."

"Whatever," Piers said and took a step back.

"Please hurry, agents. The last I checked this building was under a terrorist attack and I'd rather not expose my life's work long enough for it to get taken now," ISAAC's voice called from around the corner.

"I didn't know you could program a robot to be bitchy," the young man said below his breath just before Chris elbowed him.

"Cut it out."

Before he could say anything else, Chris and Jill were already halfway down the hall. Piers turned to make sure the elevator shaft was still empty, and then he followed. The hall was long and winding, and after a while Piers wasn't even sure if the so called 'fifth floor' was anywhere near where an actual fifth floor would be. But in the end, it all eventually led them to a large room of floor to ceiling machines, wires, and assorted fans. Screens and monitors displayed the security feed of all of the floors and angles of the building, dead bodies on every single screen. On a few they could see the Secret Agents below scouting throughout the compound.

Other screens streamed endless amounts of data as file after file circulated into the system from various government and B.S.A.A. branches. At the heart of the room was another young man. This one was shorter, lither. He wore a simple long sleeved shirt and pants. The only thing that really stood out about his frame was his eyes ‒ blue in a way none of the agents had ever seen before. That and the huge cord that ran from the base of the man's skull to the ceiling.

When the group walked in, the other robot instantly turned to regard them, and when he did, he smiled. His eyes had merry crow's feet at the corners, which became even more vivid when his smile widened.

"Former Director Redfield, it's a pleasure to meet you. You look just how your most recently updated file portrays you. All of you do. Just how I imagined you all to be."

"Uh… Thanks," Chris said as he looked between ISAAC and ICARUS. "ICARUS, we‒"

"‒are here on a mission, I know. I apologize, it's just that this is the first time I have ever met a human other than my creator. Though I do watch," ICARUS said as he gestured to the security feed, and then his smile washed away beneath an ocean of programming, "Or at least I did… I cannot believe that they are all gone. It only took minutes. If only I had… That reminds me. Former Director Redfield, I would like to report a glitch in my system."

"‒Our programming is clear, ICARUS," ISAAC said suddenly. The man had been so quiet that the agents had almost forgotten he was there. "Protecting this floor comes first."

Chris looked between the two in confusion.

"Is there something wrong with the data?"

"No," ICARUS said, "I would like to report that 0.5 seconds after the virus was released into the air ducts, I was unable to send a report to the head of security of this building to warn them about the contaminant. If I had, then some of them could have been saved."

Chris barely covered his grimace, but ISAAC still caught it. His head tilted slightly when he noticed it, then looked over as Jill took a step forward. That one step closer to ICARUS made ISAAC growl from his place in the doorway.

"We have clearance to be here," she said when she noticed his intent gaze.

"I know."

She gave him a long, wary look before turning back to ICARUS.

"That was not a glitch," Jill said, drawing the robot's attention. "Like ISAAC said, you were programmed with the safety of this floor in mind. Any communication with any other personnel in this building could have compromised you. The information you two protect affect millions of lives, ICARUS, and that's why we're here. We need to take as much of it back to a safer location as soon as possible."

"Millions…" ICARUS repeated.

"Yes, millions."

And then the smaller robot turned to look at her plainly. It was not in his programming to judge, nor was it to feel. But curiosity, questions, a quest for understanding ‒ Jill could see it in the robot's eyes. He didn't understand.

"Two minutes ago, I had not met you, Agent Valentine. I knew you existed because the humans who programmed me said you existed. Now I have met you… So yes, I know there are millions of people in this world. My programming tells me as much," he said as he turned to face the security screens, "But an hour ago, these people were my world. I watched them drink every one of their morning coffees, I saw them file every report. I even saw B.O.W. Nivans when he was first recruited in this very office. I have seen these people come and go. They celebrated holidays, got excited about snow… I know the world is much bigger for you, but for me it was quite small."

"ICARUS, we really need‒"

"‒I could have saved them, but you programmed me not to."

His tone was not accusing. He was simply repeating the words in order to confirm that they were true, and they were.

Jill opened her mouth and then closed it.

Chris did not open his mouth at all.

ICARUS' eyes suddenly cleared and he nodded. He then reached one finger up to his temple and pressed against the skin there. A small click followed, and then a tiny microchip ejected out through the false-skin there. He took the chip between two fingers and looked at it. For a terrifying second, Chris thought the filtering unit would just destroy it then, even though it was against his programming to do that.

But he didn't. Instead, ICARUS just held the chip out to him, his eyes a little less bright now that it was gone. When the oldest B.S.A.A. agent held out his hand, the robot gently let it fall into it and then curled Chris' fingers around it with his own. His hands were not cold, nor were they warm. They were room temperature, and it made Chris uncomfortable to touch something that both did and did not feel human, but he did not pull away.

"I hope nothing stops you from protecting your bigger world, Former Director Redfield," ICARUS said. Chris could not tell if the robot was being honest or scathing ‒ he wasn't even sure if ICARUS could even contrive anything quite so subtle ‒ but it stung deeply all the same. Chris pulled his hand away.

"You're not coming with us?" Piers asked. Jill looked between them, then excused herself to the hall as she contacted HQ. Chris could just barely hear her as she told them that they had retrieved the data and were ready to leave.

"He can't," ISAAC said, and gestured towards the ceiling where the cord from ICARUS' neck connected into the framework of the security system. "ICARUS is a filtering system for all of the data that comes into this facility. He was never meant to be portable, and even if he was, he cannot function outside of the system in this room."

Piers turned to look at Chris and pointed at ISAAC.

"And what about him?" He asked.

"Our orders were to collect as much as we could‒" Chris said.

"‒I understand," ISAAC said and stood a little straighter. "We should go. Now that the data is no longer in ICARUS, it will be harder to maintain. The sooner it is in a secure facility, the better."

"Right," Chris said, then turned to look at the ceiling-bound unit. "ICARUS… you understand what I have to do, right?"

"Of course. It is protocol. I understand."

Chris nodded. "Piers, go to the elevator shaft and make sure the hall is clear. I'll be there in a moment."

"Yes, sir."

Once he and the two robots were all that remained, Chris walked around the room and set in place several remote bombs around the room. When he was done, he walked back to ICARUS and curled the robot's fingers around the detonator. "Do you know how to use this?"

"Yes."

"Once the Secret Service men have left, do it," Chris said, and tightened his hand around the other's minutely. "I'll make sure this information was worth the cost that was paid."

ICARUS smiled, but it was an odd expression on his face now that his eyes were not as bright. Empty.

"Thank you, Former Director Redfield."

He nodded, then turned to ISAAC.

"Alright, ISAAC. Let's go."

Then Chris, and ISAAC followed. He followed him exactly halfway into the hall before he gently grabbed Chris by the elbow to stop him.

"Former Director Redfield," he said somberly, and then stared at Chris. The older man blinked, then looked back in the direction he knew Piers and Jill would be. They needed to go.

He turned back to face the tall robot.

"Yes, ISAAC?"

* * *

When Chris finally rounded the corner, Piers was already running down the hall and leaping at the rope. By the time he had shimmied up the rope and back onto the fake fifth floor, the older B.S.A.A. agent had also grabbed the rope and was beginning to make his way up. Jill and Piers both helped pull him up to his feet once he made it out of the shaft, and it was then that Piers noticed that there was no one behind him.

"What happened to ISAAC?"

"The world he had been watching for over ten years was about to end and he didn't want to outlast it." Chris licked his lips, then continued. "Only a director can override his programming, so I did."

Chris then handed the tiny chip to Jill and started to walk away. The female agent quickly placed the chip into the protective case the B.S.A.A. had given her for it, then rushed to follow with Piers right beside her.

No one said anything for a long while.

The route back to the helipad was an uneventful one. None of the corpses suddenly stirred, and there was no barking gunfire from downstairs. The Secret Service had no doubt figured out exactly what they had ‒ whatever killed these people hadn't been a virus.

And then Chris stopped.

"ICARUS had said a virus had been introduced into the air ducts, hadn't he?" Chris asked, causing the other two to pause. "But nothing happened…"

Jill had the door to the roof halfway open when she looked back with a frown.

"We can think about that when we finish our mission, Chris. Let's go."

"I‒ Right, yeah. Let's go."

Jill went out onto the roof first, weapon ready as she scanned the area. Piers followed her, then Chris. But the roof was just as they left it ‒ empty. Despite this, Chris couldn't shake the growing feeling of unease in his stomach. It was like a slow plummeting feeling, and the further he stepped out onto the roof, the stronger the feeling got. Jill and Piers were already to the helicopter and opening the chopper doors when he finally stopped.

Every hair on his body was standing on end now, and he couldn't help but feel like this was a feeling he should recognize. A feeling he had had before. His eyes were sightless as he cast his attention in upon himself, trying to figure out what was wrong.

"Guys," he said, "Wait up a second. Something's not right‒"

And that's when he heard the sound of Piers' head being slammed into the side of the helicopter. He jerked up just in time to see the young man stumble, stunned, as Jill sent a powerful kick sailing right into his chest. The force of the blow sent the man flying, and he landed in a rolling heap a few feet away.

"Jill, what the hell is wrong with you?" Chris demanded as he jogged towards Piers. He hadn't even made it halfway when the other man managed to look up at him, first in disorientation, then with wild, panicked eyes.

"Captain, behind you!"

But the warning wasn't quick enough. Suddenly, Chris' arm was yanked out from behind him and cruelly twisted up behind his back. He yelped as the arm was then pulled tighter and one of his knees was kicked out from under him. There was a wet pop and he howled as his knees bit into the concrete.

Whoever was behind him had kneeled down as he fell, and still remained behind him. They pulled him back tautly and smiled into his ear.

"So you're a captain now. How ironic."

Chris' heart stopped. If the voice had not been so distinctive, he wouldn't have believed it possible. But before he could even ask the man how he survived two rockets and a volcano, there was a sudden stinging pain in his neck.

"What did you‒?!"

And then he was shoved forward. His head knocked against the concrete painfully as Pier was suddenly on his feet. The young man quickly dodged another sweeping kick that Jill delivered his way and raced towards Wesker with his gun firing all the while.

"Pathetic," the blond B.O.W. scoffed. Chris struggled to his feet, knee throbbing and pulse jumping as he watched Wesker move like water and dodge the bullets Piers fired at him. Once the young man was too close to fire anymore, he raised the butt of his gun and attacked the other B.O.W. head on.

"Piers, no‒!" Chris yelled as Wesker dodged once more and sent his open palm directly against the agent's chest. Chris could hear the hollow thump of it hitting, as well as the sharp crack of at least one rib snapping, and then Piers was sailing through the air again. When he landed this time, he didn't get up. "Piers!"

He raised his gun then, but just as he lined his aim with Wesker's smirking face, the world tilted beneath his feet. Images hopped before his eyes, turning everything into a trembling mess. Chris couldn't figure out which Wesker he should aim at and tried blinking to clear his vision.

"What did you do to me?" He snarled. He didn't shoot, not when he couldn't tell the difference between the floor, Wesker, and Piers. He quickly rubbed his wrist against his eyes and tried to blink again. His vision cleared for a second, and then quickly blurred again. Wesker laughed from somewhere close, making Chris jerk his gun in whatever direction he thought the voice had come from.

"Jill, ready the chopper for flight," Wesker said, "This will only take a moment longer."

"Jill? Wha‒?"

He stumbled. His gun felt too heavy for his trembling hands to hold, and when it hit the gun the clatter of its fall was painfully loud. Chris took one step, then two before the world tilted violently in the opposite direction it had been tilting before. When his shoulder hit the concrete, he couldn't feel it.

He rolled onto his back, stared up at the now night sky with unseeing eyes, and wondered if the last thing he'd see before he turned into whatever Wesker had injected him with would be those stars and that sky.

_Too bad it's so blurry, _Chris thought, _wouldn't be such a bad last sight to go on._

He could hear small bursts of static from somewhere, but he didn't know where or from what.

Then fingers pressed into his neck for a while and pulled at his eyelids. When they were done doing that, those hands moved under his arm pits and lifted him. One of his arms was then draped over a strong set of shoulders, and he was dragged to the helicopter. His feet stumbled beneath him uselessly as he tried to struggle, but as his head grew heavy, that too eventually fell forward.

And everything went dark.

* * *

[a/n] Responses to reviews below, BECAUSE I LOVE YOU GUYS! :D Don't stop reviewing, you lovely people!

Ultimolu - I know, I was so sad that Capcom killed him, too. And Wesker. So I brought them back, haha. Thanks, glad you like it so far!

symphonyofslience - Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!

Pink and Black Cherry Blossom - I know! I HAD SO MANY PIERS!FEELS! I really was excited to see what he would do in later games, and then he DIED.

bloody raptor - You bring up a super good point, but it is something that has a reason further into the story. Leon is usually off in Europe despite his HQ being in DC, but don't worry. He's coming.

Guest 1 - I HOPE SO TOO! But I hoped that with Wesker, too, and well… Capcom is mean, lol.

Guest 2 - Thanks!

Digilady99 - Me too, and thank you so much! Glad you're enjoying it so far!

Riri Yuki - I'm glad I surprised you with that - I was excited when I was writing it. Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it!

Domofan19 - Thanks! I'll try my best to keep them coming. ;)

Arawun - Thanks! -hug-

KyraMokana - I'm so glad you think they're in character! That's one of my biggest fears, I'm terrified I'll write one of them out of character. I hope I don't, and please let me know if I do!

Sokulski - Thanks! Glad you're enjoying it!

All the support has been awesome, guys, thank you so, so much!


	5. Those Who Wait

Chapter 5: Those Who Wait

Piers' fingers lingered and twitched next to the landing pad light bolted into the floor beside him. With every twitch, static crawled from the little light to his skin and disappeared within his body. The bones in his ribcage slowly creaked into place, crackling with the absorbed energy, and as they righted themselves within him, Piers began to breathe easier. He blinked blurrily as wind whizzed around his eyes. Through the haze of his healing concussion, he could just barely see the fuzzy spinning of the helicopter blades as a tall, blond man helped a limp man climb in. The shorter man appeared to be asleep, not stirring up a fuss at all as the blond fastened him to the chopper seat with safety belts before climbing in himself.

When the blond slid the door shut and looked at him through the window with a grin, everything finally clicked in place within the concussed B.O.W.'s mind. The young man sprung to his feet, electricity crackling in his palm as he ran towards the helicopter.

"Captain!"

The blond within only grinned wider and gave him a little salute before the helicopter started to raise up into the air. Wind whipped at Piers' face, but he ignored it as he raced towards the chopper. When he was close enough, he bunched all the muscles in his thighs and leapt for the landing rung on the helicopter.

As a B.O.W., he could feel the difference in his abilities now compared to when he was human. He easily cleared two or three feet more than he ever could have before, but that still didn't matter. His fingers just barely grazed the landing rung, and then slipped free as the chopper rose up and out of reach. Piers landed with a heavy _oomph_, teeth gritted as he watched the helicopter climb even higher into the air.

"No!" The word exploded from his lungs violently in a mess of rage and frustration. His blood boiled within his veins and his right arm throbbed horribly as he stood there uselessly and watched his captain get abducted. So lost was he in his anger, Piers didn't even notice it when the landing lights on the helicopter pad began to wink out one by one with a little crack-sizzle-fizz all around him.

Jill Valentine, one of the creators of the B.S.A.A., had betrayed them. Had turned their most valuable agent over to Albert Wesker ‒ _who should be dead_, Piers' mind howled shrilly ‒ and to top it off, she had taken the intel they had retrieved with her. The hope of the B.S.A.A., of the world, was on that chopper and all he could do was watch as it flew away.

Red bled into Piers' vision from the corners of his eyes before all he knew was instinct and anger. A hundred foreign desires crept their way through his blood as his right hand curled into an righteous fist beside him. He tried to breathe through his nose, but there just wasn't enough oxygen to calm him.

He _did not_ become what he had become, die, and then _come back_ just for the hope of the B.S.A.A. to be taken away now. No. Not like this.

Lightning danced from each stripped electrical outlet and leapt to his hand. The blue energy curled and popped around his arm in excitement, and when he threw his hand forward, that energy eagerly obeyed his call. A bolt of electricity sang into the night sky with a howling scream, lighting up the entire area as it arced towards its target. That very light illuminated the helicopter as it pierced it, just as it illuminated the men and women of the Secret Service that then burst through the roof access doors and rushed into a circle of aimed guns and flashlights around Piers.

The helicopter wobbled in mid-air, dropped in altitude, then began to rise again, albeit slowly. Smoke trailed off of it in an angry gush as it disappeared into the night. Once the fixation was gone, the red haze faded ‒ leaving Piers alone with the horror of knowing that the virus was not as dormant as the scientists of the B.S.A.A. believed, and a ring of wary Secret Service agents.

"Don't move," one yelled, closely followed by another, "Put your hands in the air!"

"Please, listen to me," Piers said, oblivious to their demands. "That chopper has Captain Chris Redfield. He's been kidnapped. I managed to hit them hard enough to make them need to land, I think, but we don't have much time. We've got to follow that smoke and‒"

"Shut up and put your hands up!"

"Wait, please, just listen. Albert Wes‒"

"Don't give me a reason to shoot you, kid. Put your damn hands up!"

"Whoa, wait! I'm a member of the infiltration party. I'm Special Agent Piers Nivans of the B.S.A.A. Don't shoot!" Piers said as he slowly reached into the pouch attached to his belt. "I'll just reach into my pack and grab my ID‒"

"I said don't. Bloody. Move," one of the agents growled from in front of him. "We have strict orders to kill anything that isn't human, and after that light show, there isn't one damn thing you can do to convince me that you're human."

"What? I didn't do this! Listen to me, I'm a part of the Infiltration Team‒"

"‒I don't care who you were, our orders are to‒"

"‒Damn it, _listen to me,_" Piers yelled, "The B.S.A.A. already knows what I am. I was sent here under Captain Chris Redfield's supervision, and if you don't stop pointing your guns at me, we're going to lose him!"

"What?"

Piers pointed in the direction the helicopter escaped in.

"My party was attacked by Albert Wesker. Agent Jill Valentine double-crossed us and led us into a trap. They took the data we were sent to retrieve, as well as Captain Redfield. If don't believe me, fine, but just get out of my way so I can go save him while that helicopter is still in the area!"

The man who appeared to be in charge of the ring of agents then narrowed his eyes at Piers from over the barrel of his gun.

"Sir?" One of the other agents asked.

"I'm sorry, kid, but I have my orders," the agent said, "It's nothing personal."

"The B.S.A.A. had to have told you about me," Piers pressed, "I'm not some mindless monster!"

"Yeah, they told us about you." Something lightened in Piers' gut and he sighed as he lowered his hands, but the agent's weapon never lowered. "They said that if we catch you alone without your handler, we are to kill you on sight. It's nothing personal."

Piers could hear it when the leather of the man's glove began to compress slowly towards the trigger. The B.S.A.A. agent growled as that coil of anxiety returned to his gut with a vengeance. He could feel that heavy pulse begin to throb in his right arm again as he glared down the barrel of the gun pointing at his head. He felt a little thrill of excitement and terror as static began to pool into the palm of his hand. Flickers of light reflected off of the whites of the assorted agents' eyes and their collective guns.

Before either party could pull the trigger, the door to the roof access banged open a second time. None of the trained agents moved or turned to look. All eyes remained on the B.O.W. except for those of the head agent, who spared a second to glance at the newcomer from over Piers' shoulder.

"Coordinator Birkin," the agent said, "We've got this under control."

"I think Special Agent Nivans is more than capable of controlling himself, Agent Wright," Sherry said. At the familiar sound of the woman's voice, Piers turned slightly to see her just as she gently pushed down the guns of the two agents closest to her and entered the circle.

"Sherry?"

"Yeah," she said as she gently grabbed Piers' right hand. At the touch, the sizzling sound cracked and popped louder as it came in contact with Sherry's skin. Piers flinched at the sudden smell of burning flesh. "Please, whatever you're doing… stop. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you _can_ control this."

And just like that, he jerked his hand from her grasp and the electricity ended. In its place, horror yawned widely in his stomach. His breath hitched.

"Oh God, Sherry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to ‒ are you alright?"

She smiled and held her hand up for him to see. The burns were fading quickly right before his very eyes, and the skin already was returning to a healthy, pale pink color.

"Nothing I can't handle," she said, and then turned to face the head agent. "Agent Wright, you can relax. I will vouch for Special Agent Nivans in Captain Redfield's absence until we can resolve this with the B.S.A.A."

"Captain Redfield," Piers whispered, then turned to Sherry. "The captain has been taken. We've got to follow that helicopter! I managed to hit it, so I think‒"

Sherry frowned and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but our air team just confirmed that the helicopter you attacked did not land. They were tailing it, but they ran out of fuel. Someone cut the lines… We'll keep our eyes on the sky, but for now there's nothing we can do until we can man up another chopper. We have a few ground parties chasing it, but it's not looking good."

"No, you don't understand. We can't just abandon the captain with that lunatic!" Piers urged and took a desperate step forward. The agents around him automatically raised their weapons, but Sherry just motioned for them to lower them once more.

"Believe me, I know better than most what Albert Wesker is capable of. I was put into hiding for years under the sole purpose of hiding me from the man. So I understand, I do. But that doesn't change the fact that right now, there is nothing we can do," she said, then grabbed him by the forearm. "That doesn't mean he is lost to us, though. We will find him, Piers."

Piers nodded slowly.

"So what's the plan?" He asked.

"As of right now, the plan is to return you to the rendezvous point so you can explain what happened. We'll make our plans from there."

His gut clenched.

"And you'll vouch for me?"

Sherry smiled at him reassuringly, then turned to face the agent. The way her face could so quickly and drastically change from friendly to in charge reminded Piers that this girl was not just a friendly face. She was a soldier.

"Agent Wright, alert HQ that we have found Special Agent Nivans in one piece. Let them know that Captain Chris Redfield has been abducted by who we believe to be Albert Wesker, and that as of right now, we believe we have identified the mole. We'll be heading out to the rendezvous point in ten. Get ready."

"Yes, ma'am," the agent said with an unconvinced growl as he holstered his weapon and shouldered his way past Piers. Piers couldn't help but smirk a bit when the contact caused an involuntary spark to discharge, lightly shocking the man for his aggressive action. The agent yelped, then walked off with an even darker glare. Sherry looked at him disapprovingly.

"That's not going to help your case," she scorned.

Piers had enough grace to look a bit guilty. He ran a hand through his hair and turned his gaze back to the point where he last saw the helicopter. The sky was too dark now to see anything, and although the light from the city illuminated a lot, the darkness would cover their escape once they exited the city limits. Chris was gone.

Sherry's hand on his forearm tightened, drawing his attention.

"For all the times Chris has killed Wesker, the man has never once been able to return the favor. He'll be fine. We'll find him."

"Yeah…" Piers murmured, "If the B.S.A.A. even lets me help…"

"Chris isn't your only friend in this, Piers. You're not alone."

"I‒ thanks, Sherry."

"I owe you two big time for saving our butts back in that underwater base. It's the least I can do. Plus, us freaky B.O.W.s have to stay together, right?"

The corner of Piers' lips twitched up into a small smile, and the night sky suddenly seemed a little less endless.

* * *

The helicopter had stabilized now as it glided through the dark night that lingered over Maryland and away from DC. Jill piloted the craft with expert, but empty eyes, never once saying a word. When a black leather hand extended itself to her, she knew exactly what it wanted. She quickly pulled the little case from her pack and dropped it in his hand.

That hand then opened the case and looked at the little chip within. With a snap, the small case was closed once more and cleared the view to show Chris Redfield slumped within the safety belts that held him to his seat. The sedated brunette laid their limply, his head lolling onto his shoulder, completely unaware of the man who watched him. A smile bloomed beneath Wesker's dark sunglasses as he scanned the brunette for damage. Other than the trauma to the knee, the captain of the B.S.A.A. looked to be in good condition.

"Good work, Jill," he said, "You retrieved everything, just as I ordered it. Though the B.O.W. was… unexpected."

"His presence was unavoidable," she said blandly. "I apologize."

"He did not make any difference, we got what we came for. That's all that matters."

Jill turned to look at him a for short moment, her eyes flickering to the leather clad man's hands as he pulled out a syringe of brightly glowing red fluid and began to twirl it idly. She returned her gaze to the sky and asked, "Will you commence with the next step of the plan now?"

"No… We only have one chance. I won't waste this opportunity on haste," he said, then smirked as he regarded the sleeping B.S.A.A. agent. "You know how it goes, after all. All good things to those who wait."

* * *

[a/n] I apologize for the wait. The weekend was a busy one filled with much partying and fun times, and then quickly turned into lots of tropical storm craziness thanks to Hurricane/Super Storm/Extratropical Storm Sandy... you can see why it took so long now, I'm sure. :D

Anywho, here is the update! I hope you enjoy it! And of course, to my lovely reviewers, I leave the following messages! ~

bloody raptor - So many thoughts and questions, you are very intuitive! But those answers are coming, just hang in there! All good things to those who wait, as Wesker said. (hehehe)

Riri Yuki - Thanks! I hope you like all that is to come, as well!

Sokulski - Thanks! :D

Ultimolu - I got your comment while I was at work and nearly burst out laughing in the office! It was the best reaction to this chapter, I loved it. Thanks for commenting! 3

Arawun - Thank you so much! This is all practice to get me pumped for NANOWRIMO, so hearing that you like my writing is really encouraging. Thanks so much!

bear0215 - Haha, thank you so much! I'm glad you're liking it all so much so far! I hope I can continue to keep you excited and on your toes. :)

RavenGhost - I agree, they totally shouldn't have died! So I brought them back -cackles manically-

I hope I got everyone. If I didn't, I'm sorry. I look forward to hearing your opinions on this chapter, thank you all so much for the support!


	6. The Masks We Wear

Chapter 6: The Masks We Wear

When Chris woke, it was slowly. The sedative he had been injected with had mostly tapered off, but it still left a lingering feeling of disorientation behind. The B.S.A.A. agent groaned as he struggled to make his way to the surface of the fog in his mind. His limbs tingled and felt uncoordinated, but he still managed to find his face when he reached for it. Small victories.

He rubbed at his eyes for a moment and tried to piece together the scattered fragments of memory he was able to stumble upon in the fog. When the fog finally cleared, all those fragments slammed together too quickly. He jerked forward into a sitting position, wild eyed and heart thundering. Albert Wesker was alive. He kidnapped him, and as of right now Chris didn't know where the hell he was.

But his hands were free. And human.

Chris looked down at them with a frown as he flexed his fingers and stretched the lingering numbness out of his palms. He then looked down at his feet to find them much the same. Free, human, and numb. His surprise was only amplified when his reaction caused a small bloom of laughter to present itself beside him. Once upon a time he might have reeled back in shock. That feeling still burned his blood ‒ he wanted to reel back, but twenty years of experience calmed his features into a mask. The same mask he would have worn for his men, had they been there. Even so, Wesker could see his expression for what it was: a mask.

"Calm yourself, Christopher. If I wanted you dead, you would not have woken here, I assure you."

Chris glared at him.

"Wesker," he growled.

"It is good to see you have regained what you lost in Edonia," Wesker said pleasantly. He was perched in a cheap looking chair, it's back to his front and his arms crossed languidly across its top. He smiled from behind his shaded glasses and idly wagged the syringe he held in his fingers. "I might have killed you if you were still the sodden drunk you were back in that bar they dragged you out of."

"You drugged me." And in all honestly, Chris still couldn't believe it. Wesker had never been a man to resort to using chemicals to make things easier. More chaotic, yes, but never easier.

"It is not my preferred method, but it was the most effective one given the circumstances. I have learned not to underestimate a Redfield," Wesker said. Despite admitting his past failures, his smile did not fade. Instead, it grew. "You should be flattered, really."

"In that case, I'm so honored that you _drugged me_."

"I'd say you haven't changed…but it would appear that you have."

Wesker let the statement hang there, but the B.S.A.A. captain didn't take the bait.

"How did you survive?" Chris asked. The question seethed out of his teeth, burning as brightly as his morbid curiosity. Two rocket launchers and a volcano. If that couldn't do it ‒

"Simple really. I'm surprised you didn't come to the conclusion already yourself. The same way I survived the fall at the Spencer Estate. It wasn't me."

The steel in Chris' voice just grew colder despite the way his blood boiled in frustration. But years of experience at playing the twisted man's game had taught him one thing: Wesker thrived off of making other people feel small, helpless, and weak. So Chris would show nothing but impassiveness, or die trying.

"How did you survive?" He asked again.

Wesker quirked a brow at him. "You do not believe me?"

"What reason do I have to believe you? I felt your hands around my throat, and I watched you fall out that window. I killed you personally in Africa. I held you down as Sheva stabbed you again, and again, and again. I saw you sink into that lava. I pulled the trigger. I watched you die and I know it was you. So how did you survive?"

"I'm surprised at you, Christopher. You'd rather believe that I have some sort of superhuman immortality than believe the very simple truth that I'm telling you. Those men you killed were not me."

"Not men. Man. You," he growled, frustration rising. He had to stop and take a deep breath to calm himself. "It was you."

"I cannot fault you for thinking that, I suppose. Those men did look like me, as they should. They were my clones, after all."

"I ‒ What?"

"My clones, created with the sole purpose of distracting the B.S.A.A. from my true ambitions. After the Arklay Mountains, I realized that if I were to get anywhere, I would need a man as talented and clever as myself to keep your agency off my tail. So I cloned myself, which proved to be a good choice, because Jill did in fact kill him at the Spencer Estate," he said with a dispassionate shrug. "So then I made another, but at that point certain qualities about my biological nature had changed… the clone was defective, but still upheld its purpose. It distracted you and gave me the time and cover to continue with my own endeavors."

"Clones…You cloned yourself."

"This really shouldn't be so hard to grasp, it's hardly beyond my capabilities."

"I killed _your clone_."

"I'm quite glad you did, too. It was rather disturbing to find out a reflection of myself existed that resorted to infecting himself with Uroboros, of all things. Even if that reflection was defective from the start." The disgust in Wesker's tone confused him. "He would not have lasted much longer whether you came along to kill him or not. Those injections would only continue to stabilize him for so long."

"I thought Uroboros was your 'perfect virus'."

"It was a virus that turned people into parasitic _worms_, Christopher. The warped dream of a remnant; a pale imitation of my goals."

"I don't believe you."

"Say that all you like, but on some level you already believe me," he said as he straightened in his chair regally. "Because on some level, you knew in Africa that something was wrong, that something just didn't make sense. Injections to stabilize a virus that had never given me trouble in the past. Using a vain tool like Excella to further my plan. Rushing things along when they were not ready. Infecting myself with an imperfect virus. Because honestly, if I knew the virus was perfect, don't you think I would have infected myself with it _before _you arrived?"

"I‒" And then the words died in the B.S.A.A. agent's throat. It was true. All during the mission in Africa, his stomach had felt stale and heavy with the feeling that this was all wrong. Because the blond was right, all of those thoughts were things that had been dragging at his heels during the entire ordeal. If not for his burning need to find ‒

"And what about Jill?" Chris said as his muscles stiffened furiously, "What did you do to her? Where is she?"

"She is here. She's fine."

His guts coiled tightly and grew cold as a thought struck him, freezing him to the center of his heart. "Is it even her? Is she… Is she a clone, too?"

Wesker grinned.

"I figured you would wonder that. Whether you chose to believe it or not, that woman _is_ in fact Jill Valentine. My clone broke the majority of the fall and I salvaged the rest."

His coiled guts eased a bit, but he didn't know if what Wesker said was a good thing or not. If it was her clone, than one of his most trusted partners was truly dead. If it wasn't her clone ‒ if that woman who had betrayed them on the roof was really Jill…

His hand curled tightly into the sheets, but he managed to resist from launching himself at the man and starting something he didn't know if he could finish. If he was lying and a volcano couldn't kill him, then he couldn't go about this in his usual fashion. He nearly let out a panicked laugh when he realized that he was hoping that the man was actually telling the truth. He couldn't deal with the idea of the blond actually being as immortal as he had boasted back in Africa.

His head throbbed with all of the information, but he ignored it.

"I want to see her," he said.

"Really? After what she did to you and your B.O.W. friend?"

"What‒ How do you know about that?"

"After you passed out, he tried quite valiantly to stop us by utilizing all of the electricity around him to strike down our chopper. He failed, but it was…interesting, none the less. It is truly too bad that he is already infected. He might have made it."

The captain within Chris froze in horror upon that moment. Piers was the last man remaining of their unit from those horrible days in Europe. The thought that after everything he might have died on the roof while Chris was sleeping made his heart flinch painfully. But before he could even open his mouth long enough to question what the blond meant by '_might have made it'_, Chris saw the world lurch oddly in his vision. He blinked and tried not to show any other sign of the sudden weakness. _It could be a lingering effect of the sedative,_ he soothed himself, _don't let Wesker know._

"Where are we?" Chris managed to say. The black in Wesker's leather outfit was beginning to turn into an overexposed purple color, and the brightly lit walls of the white cell he was in were making his temples pulse in agitation. He hoped by pursuing a less excitable question it would help ease whatever aftereffects from the sedative were bothering him.

"Somewhere isolated. Somewhere where I can safely pursue the next step of my plan."

"And what is that?" He asked and tried not to blink despite the fact that everything just felt wrong. The hairs on his arm were standing at attention again and his gut was wringing itself into a knot within him. He found himself wondering why the feeling from the rooftop had suddenly reappeared, or if it had been there since he woke up but just hadn't noticed due to the drugs.

Wesker returned his chin to where it had been resting on his crossed arms and peered at him from over the tops of his black glasses. He was looking for something, Chris knew that he was, but he couldn't think straight enough to riddle out what it could be.

And then B.O.W. smiled.

"You. You are the next step. You have been for quite some time."

"You're going to kill me," he said. He was sure that was it, it had to be. Why the man felt the need to kidnap him in order to do it, who knew ‒ maybe to make it as long and painful as possible without interruptions ‒ but that didn't matter. Chris knew he needed to get away.

"Quite the contrary, Christopher," Wesker admitted as he waved the syringe still hanging between his fingers. "I'm just finishing a little experiment I started years ago."

And then Chris was on his feet and across the locked cell, hunched down into a defensive crouch. His weapons were gone, his combat pants were torn at the knees, and his boots were oddly missing, but that didn't stop him from preparing for a fight.

"If you think I'm going to let you get anywhere near me with whatever is in that thing, you're sorely mistaken," Chris said, mask crumbled in light of the situation. In its place was an animalistic snarl, determined to go down fighting. One moment passed, then another, and Wesker still had yet to move.

Then the blond chuckled and turned in his chair to better regard him. Legs now crossed, he held the syringe up for the brunette to better see. The needle was moderately long and the container seemed to be double-reinforced somehow, but what startled the B.S.A.A. agent the most was not that. It was that the syringe was empty and had been the entire time.

"I don't understand," he said. His skin felt colder.

"I think you do," Wesker smiled. He then flicked the syringe across the room. It clattered to the floor with a hollow clatter. If Chris could reach it first, he could use it as a weapon. Maybe introduce the blond's bloodstream to a unhealthy dose of oxygen and kill him that way. Or at least make him moderately uncomfortable while the agent took his chance to get away. But Wesker could see his intentions clearly in the way he held himself, and Chris knew which of the two of them would win in a race. He didn't have Sheva with him this time to slow the other man down. "I injected you twenty minutes ago. While you slept."

Chris' heart constricted within his chest. Sweat burned its way into his eyes and no amount of blinking cleared his vision. His skin felt jittery and hyper alert. His knees ached more forcefully than they ever had before. Old wounds and scars sang symphonies along the lines of his nervous system. The agent had just a moment to wonder if knowing he had been injected with something was making him psychologically pronounce these feelings or if they truly had been there to begin with ‒ but then the thought was sliding through his fingers like sand.

"Coward."

"As I said, if there is one thing I've learned from my unfortunate clones, it is not to underestimate you."

All of the answers he had supplied so willingly, all the time he had spent explaining things, all the opportunities he missed to lord all of that information over the agent's head ‒ Chris knew something had been wrong, but getting those answers was too tempting to pass up. As Wesker knew they would be. He had been biding his time, giving Chris everything he wanted, all the while knowing that it wouldn't matter soon enough.

Another surge of pain welled up within him and he struggled to stay standing. He clenched his jaw against the feeling of things shifting within him and tried to focus.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Chris snarled furiously through his teeth. "You played me!"

Wesker smiled at him appeasingly.

"Don't fight it, captain. The more excited you get, the faster your blood will push the virus through you. There is no going back now. Only forward."

Chris' legs flagged wearily beneath him until he finally sunk down to one knee. His limbs shook with the same weak trembling that they would shake with whenever he drank too much and found himself kneeling before the toilet. If he shook any harder, he feared he would fly apart at the seams. The quaking stole the strength from his limbs, and the harder he fought it, the weaker he felt.

The light from the walls stung.

"Don't worry, it will all be over soon." Chris didn't realize the blond was standing beside him until he heard the creak of leather as the man lowered down to a kneel at his side. Cool hands pressed at his forehead and checked his pulse. He tried to flinch away, but the fingers just followed him. "The dawn of a new world is at hand and you will be there to see it. Be glad."

"I hope I eat you whenever this is done," he muttered.

Wesker laughed.

"I think you are confused about what is going to happen, Christopher. But that's okay, we have plenty of time to prepare. Once you're finished becoming what you were destined to become, you and I will proceed with the next step."

"I'm not going to help you do anything."

"We'll see."

And then he was being lowered to the floor and a strap of leather was slid between his teeth. His limbs locked up and seconds turned into years of hot, blinding waves of change. Sweat pooled around him, making him slide sickly on the floor as he writhed. The blond spoke nonsense to him, a bunch of syllables and consonants stringed into some code he couldn't understand. The words bled in one ear and faded like dust out the other.

But Wesker never left. Eons passed and the man watched every throbbing second of it. The dusk of humanity waned and crossed the rising dawn of a new and foreign entity within the brunette. Organs rekindled themselves into stronger structures. Tissue was reinforced, eyes were remade, senses were doubled, skin was toughened, and all the while Chris writhed upon the floor. The blazing brightness of the virus burned away everything in its waking, searing through his veins until nothing was left of his former self but ash.

And something new rose in its place.

[LINE BREAK]

Comment responses, ahoy! :D

Riri Yuki - Sherry and Piers are adorable. And one thing is for certain, Piers has plenty of good-hearted men and women to back him up in this fight.

Rachel - BOOM! More has been provided, and more is yet to come! I'm very glad you're enjoying it so far!

Fuuyuki - I know! The B.S.A.A. just don't trust B.O.W.s, do they? And things will get worse with the betrayal of a woman they had cleared for reintroduction to the organization. But things are always darkest before the dawn. I'm really glad you're enjoying things so far! I hope you continue to!

bloody raptor - Right? But you know Wesker, he has a reason for everything.

Chuu - He does look like a Jeremy, doesn't he? XD

bear0215 - I know, I feel so bad for putting Piers in these horrible situations! At least he's alive, right? XD Don't worry, he'll get his chance to do good.

Ultimolu - Hahaha! Your reactions are the best! :D I'm glad it's keeping you on your toes. And thanks for letting me know about the formatting. I'll try my best to go back when I've got some free time and fix it.

Christina Redfield - I'm glad you're liking it so far. And yeah…the storm was really bad. The poor north, man…

Sokulski - Ta-da! The next part is here, haha! Thanks, I'm glad you like it so far!


	7. Sherry's Promise

Chapter 7: Sherry's Promise

Piers sat at the far end of a long, expensive conference table. A gaggle of lab-coats were standing around one end of the table, conversing animatedly among one another as Piers, two armed B.S.A.A. soldiers on either side of him, and the executive vice director of the B.S.A.A. watched on sourly. Feeling the agents' ire, the head scientist quickly waved the other lab-coats away and pulled up a hologram. The hologram spun slowly at the center of the table and portrayed a 3-dimensional imitation of Piers during his initial infection, just as he had described it to the scientists during the beginning of his voluntary incarceration. The claws at the end of his mutated right arm twitched and clacked together sickly as static crawled up and down the offending limb with little pops and bursts. The hologram's face was peeling, too. Piers had forgotten about that. After a while, the excruciating feel of his skin decaying right off his very face paled beneath the roar of the voices and the lingering feeling of wrongness spreading within his arm.

The image's blind right eye stared at him sightlessly, making Piers swallow down the bile that began to climb up his throat at the sight.

He averted his eyes, and in doing so caught the gaze of the vice director. Vice Director Samuel Dawson's dark eyes seemed even darker in the dimmed conference room. The deep lines marring his face were not new, but they did appear to be decades deeper now. Time had eroded youth from the man's face like loose sand from a dry beach, and Piers couldn't decide how old he thought the vice director might be. Age didn't really matter in their industry though. Dawson's eyes could cut could diamonds, that's all Piers really needed to know in order to ascertain that he was screwed. They were going to lock him in a base so far in the ground, he'd become the new core of the earth.

But still, Piers stared him down. A guilty man would look away, but Piers bled red, white, and blue. He was a good man, and he'd make sure the vice director knew it when he stamped the document that sent him down.

Dawson looked away first, but Piers didn't feel like he won anything.

"I thought you said the virus was dormant, doctor." It was a simple question, but Dawson made it sound like an interrogation.

"I did. It was," the doctor stuttered. "What I mean to say is that based off of our initial observation, everything pointed to the conclusion that the amount of energy exerted to restore the subject's body in turn caused the virus to fall into a dormant state - too weakened to further function within the host. Our first tests just a few months ago proved that he healed as slowly and normally as any other human when faced with wounds; his eyesight was normal; his speed and abilities were only heightened moderately; and he did not maintain the ability to mutate. We tried to stimulate the virus, but nothing worked. As of yesterday, the virus _was _dormant."

"And now?"

"The quick tests we were able to perform here before the meeting indicate that the subject's eyesight is improving, his abilities have further increased, and both shall likely continue to do so as he absorbs more energy from his surroundings."

Dawson straightened in his seat. "He's doing this as we speak?"

"I can't control whether or not I absorb the energy around me, _sir_," Piers said sharply. "But seeing as the electricity in the building hasn't gone out, I wouldn't say I'm absorbing all that much of it, now am I?"

"You would do well to bite your tongue while I decide what to do with you considering the circumstances, Agent Nivans," the vice director said.

"I thought you did decide. The men on the rooftop definitely seemed like they knew what you had in mind."

"Agent Nivans‒!"

"‒You're wasting valuable time and resources by keeping me here!" Piers exploded. He slammed his palms on the table, making the expensive wood shudder. His skin stung bitterly. "I could be out there looking for the captain!"

"How are we supposed to let you go out there unsupervised? We don't even know what you are!"

"I am a soldier of the B.S.A.A.! I have bled for this organization and this nation, damnit, so stop treating me like a monster!" One of the overhead lights above Piers dimmed momentarily, popping in that way lights did when they were on the brink of extinguishing. Piers straightened and took a deep breath through his nose. The flickering passed, but his frustration didn't. "Sherry Birkin said she would vouch for me."

Dawson had noticed the lights, Piers knew he had. The young agent was surprised when the man took a moment to take a breath himself instead of antagonize him about his lack of control.

"Yes, we were informed as such, but shortly after arriving here with you, Sherry Birkin was called away on a matter of national security. You couldn't go and she couldn't stay. An unfortunate turn of events, but it is what it is. Despite what you might think, Agent Nivans, it is not my goal to imprison you or execute you. I am aware of the level of service you have provided this organization, but my job is to protect to soldiers you would fight beside, and it would be negligent of me to put you out there with them when we don't understand just how much you've changed," Dawson said. The older man didn't look empathetic, nor did he look at Piers with distain. He was stating facts. "I know what you might think based off what happened on the rooftop, and you can think what you want. But I don't regret telling those men to protect themselves from a man who might lose his humanity at any moment. You had to make that call yourself once, didn't you? Back in Edonia?"

_"Captain, we gotta move!"_

_Flesh tore from the burnt husks of their teammates' bodies with wet slurps and sick splashes as huge limbs flailed from their human cocoons and stretched with new life. One by one, each hunched over chrysalis broke open, creatures roaring and swinging as the bars finally rose back into the ceiling. _

_"Not like this," Chris whispered._

_"Now, we gotta go!"_

_Chris had his gun up, Piers could see it, but he knew the man's body __‒ __his instincts __‒ __were at war with his head. They were monsters; they were his men. When Finn burst out from the group first, claws extended, Chris raised his weapon out of habit. _

_And then did nothing as Finn grabbed him and slammed him into the wall like a ragdoll. One heavy fist collided solidly with the man's chest, then another, until finally he was thrown to the ground. The crack of the captain's skull against the concrete made Piers taste bile, and a phantom pain procured at the back of his own head in sympathy. _

_When Chris' body finally crumbled to a halt, he didn't move again._

_"Chris!" He howled, then he raised his gun and started firing._

Piers averted his eyes. That decision hadn't been easy. He trained with those men, they were his brothers. Finn had been too young. They had all been too young. Pulling that hairpin trigger shouldn't have been so easy when it hurt so much.

"I understand that, but the captain is out there in the hands of the lunatic he pushed into a volcano, sir. We're running out of time," Piers said. A look passed over Dawson's face then, one that passed just as quickly, but Piers still caught it. One time his old team poured a bucket of ice water in his stall when he was showering. Realizing that the B.S.A.A. wasn't even looking for Chris kind of felt like that. "…No. No, no, no, you've got to be _shitting_ me!"

"Agent Nivans, you need to look at this from an objective point of view. Captain Redfield has been captive for nearly a day now. A team has been manned and deployed to find him, but in all likelihood, the captain is either dead or as good as. No one wants to say it, but it's true. In the meantime, we have to concentrate on the things we can change. The things that affect the safety of the whole world and not just one man." Piers just kept shaking his head in short, disbelieving shakes. Dawson continued regardless. "Albert Wesker has our data. We need to get that data back and delete whatever copies he might have manifested before he uses that data to the disadvantage of billions of innocent people. I wish the circumstances were different, but they're not. Securing that data is more important than Chris Redfield."

"They're both in the possession of the same damn man!"

"That's if Chris is alive, and if we happen to find him while in pursuit of the chip, of course we'll do whatever we can to save him. But he is not our first priority here." Dawson slowed for a second before finally saying, "And there is also the unfortunate possibility that Jill Valentine was not the only mole among us."

Piers felt the world still beneath his feet. The air felt too dry, his clothes felt too tight, and his pulse felt too strong for his veins.

"He's one of the founders of this very organization! I died for that man, he's not‒!"

"‒Jill Valentine was also a founder of this organization, Agent Nivans. Both times that Wesker was announced as dead, it was either Jill or Chris that had been his supposed undoing and both were always present. It's rather convenient that both times in which they were involved, they failed. I know it's not what you want to hear, none of us do, but you might need to prepare yourself for that possibility. Wesker was their captain for a time, after all. It's not impossible."

Piers could feel wood from the table peeling beneath his finger nails. The conference room phone let out a warbled beep before it died in a small, smelly burst of smoke. Dawson simply raised his brows pointedly at him. The guards on either side of Piers stiffened.

"That man sacrificed _everything _for this organization. How dare you‒!"

A hand laid itself upon his shoulder and squeezed sternly. It was a warning, but it also held something else ‒ understanding. Piers hadn't heard the door to the conference room open over the thump of his blood pounding through his ears, but when he lurched around to address the owner of the hand, the lights suddenly ceased flickering.

"You know, you're really not helping yourself with the lightshow, kid. Keep it up and the director might go back on the deal I just spent an hour convincing her to take me up on," Leon said with a sideways smile.

"Agent Kennedy," Piers started, but stopped when Leon squeezed his shoulder and shook his head, silently telling him to shut up. Then the older agent turned his attention to Director Page behind him. She looked exhausted, but ready to take a B.O.W. down herself if she had to.

"Director, would you be so kind as to explain to the situation Vice Director Dawson for me? I believe Agent Nivans and I shouldn't waste anymore time."

"Of course, Agent Kennedy."

Leon then steered Piers towards the door and the young man allowed it. As the older agent passed the director, she grabbed his arm and gave him a fierce look.

"Do not make me regret this decision," she said.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And then they left, just like that. Piers could hear the soldiers shift uncertainly as the vice director immediately began to argue with the director, but those voices grew quieter and quieter as the doors eased closed. When Piers had entered that conference room, it was in the midst of a full assortment of the B.S.A.A.'s finest soldiers. He thought he'd be escorted out the same way ‒ down to a dark place where he'd never even find out if the world had burned to hell without him or not. The fact that he instead walked out into the hallway now with an ally beside him left him with a feeling that punched the air from his lungs.

"What's going on?" Piers said as soon as the door slid shut with a prim click behind them. When Leon tried to grab the young man by the elbow and steer him forward again, Piers jerked his arm away. "Look, I'm grateful, but I want some answers. I'm not some weapon to be passed from hand to hand, damnit! I've been in that damn room for hours and just now found out that no one is even _looking _for the captain. What the hell is going on?"

Leon sighed.

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?"

"No. I appreciate what you're doing for me, but no. I need to know."

Leon gave him a considering look. Chris had given him the same look before. Piers halfway expected Leon to shove him back through the doors and say 'to hell with it, keep him'.

"At least follow me," Leon finally said, "I'll tell you on the way."

"…Alright."

When Leon took his elbow this time, he didn't pull away. The blond's trot was a quick one, but Piers didn't have any trouble keeping up.

"Agent Birkin was assigned to a matter of national security, but before she left, she called me. Told me all about what happened and how they were going to give up the manhunt in favor of the chip. The chip is the amalgamation of several different organizations, the B.S.A.A. isn't the only one manning up a team. So I offered to head up the Secret Services' team. My mission is to find the chip and monitor you. Your mission is to find Chris, which given the circumstances and the whole 'I'm monitoring you'-thing, really makes it my mission, too."

"And you're not afraid to work with me?"

Leon let out a short, barking laugh. "Kid, you are not my first infected-partner rodeo. Hell, you probably won't even be my last. I've had a few, plus one particularly interesting time when I myself was included."

"You were infected?"

"Briefly, and _only_ briefly, thank God. Almost got enslaved to the biggest creeper in existence. Literally. He was this mutated plaga-spider sort of thing," Leon said, and made spider-like gestures with one hand as he made a disgusted face. "Would've really blown if we hadn't found that laser‒ Ah, here we go."

Leon then opened a door and pushed Piers' through it. The younger agent then stumbled out to the hanger bay attached to the base that they had black-bagged and brought him to. Out on the tarmac was a private jet waiting for them.

"Didn't the reports say you crashed the last jet you were on?" Piers said uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well, you try flying a plane with a deranged, gas-spouting boob monster trying to kill you and see if you can do any better," Leon muttered under his breath, then gestured for him to follow. "Come on, let's go. Claire will kill me if we don't get to Chris before Wesker returns the favor and pushes him into a volcano out of spite."

"That's not funny," Piers said as he started to jog after the blond.

"I know, Claire can be scary as hell."

* * *

[a/n] Sorry guys. I've been really busy trying to finish my SoYouThinkYouCanVid entry in between work and traveling on weekends, so getting this update done took longer than I liked. Hopefully that'll change as my time slowly begins to free back up. Thank you for all the kind reviews and for being so patient!

TonberryBlue - Haha, thanks! And sadly, no. There will be no PiersxSherry in the future (though that pairing is adorable). I a lot of people have been asking about the pairings... I probably should have outlined them in the beginning, but my summary thing didn't give me enough room to do so! haha. But there are very few pairings in this. Mostly just some AdaxLeon, LeonxClaire, JakexSherry, and ChrisxJill. And MAYBE a surprise one (I haven't decided). Anyways, regardless of the pairings, I hope you continue to read and enjoy the chapters! :D

termert - I guess you'll have to wait for the next chapter and find out! ;)

Silent-Sarcasm - Oh wow, seriously, thank you so much! Keeping the characters in character is really important to me, so hearing that you think their reactions are realistic was a relief and an honor! :D And man, I WISH I worked for Capcom. That'd be freaking awesome. I'd probably die from happiness. XD Let me know if you think any reactions in future chapters are unrealistic. I'd like to stick with the true essence of the characters as much as possible.

KyraMokana - Thank you! I don't intend to stop, so keep your eyes open for updates! Hope to hear from ya again! :D

piplupfan580 - Thank you so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying it and I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Sokulski - Ta-da! A whole chapter devoted to Piers! :D

Verelan - Stick around and find out! 3 I hope you enjoy the future chapters!

bloody raptor - Guess you'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out. Hopefully it won't take me too long to post it, so you'll have your answers soon! :D Thanks for sticking around each chapter, I always enjoy hearing your input. You're a very insightful and observant reader! You catch onto all the things I try to surprise you guys with in the next chapter almost every time! Haha!

LucyMew - Oh wow, thank you so, so much! I'm so glad you like my style, and to hear how much you enjoy the chapters makes me really happy and honored! As for Chris, you'll have to stick around and find out! ;) and as for the pairings - No, I'm sorry. This isn't Nivanfield. I probably should have outlined the pairings in the beginning (I did on my Tumblr posts), but the fanfic summary box didn't give me enough room to do so! haha. But there are very few pairings in this. Mostly just some AdaxLeon, LeonxClaire, JakexSherry, and ChrisxJill. And MAYBE a surprise one (I haven't decided). Anyways, regardless of the pairings, I hope you continue to read and enjoy the chapters! :D

Christina Redfield - I'm glad it wasn't too bad for you. It was crazy to hear how hard the north got hit. I can't even imagine... I'm glad you're okay.

Ultimolu - I absolutely love your Wesker-Dialogue comments, they are the best! They always make me smile. XDD Thank you so much for reading and continuously commenting. I hope you continue to! :D

Vampuric Spider - Thank you so much! 3


	8. The Switch

Chapter 8: The Switch

He was somewhere deep and dark. Space as thick as water enclosed upon him from all sides, cool and soothing upon the skin of his subconscious self. The darkness did not speak, it did not need to. He could simply _feel _what it was trying to say. It spread across his limbs and held him suspended. It helped him breathe and coaxed old pains out of his strained muscles. It pressed itself into his eyes and through his body. Rewired things he didn't know needed rewiring until something gave way and just felt right. Perfect.

For a long time, he just drifted there. Maybe he was up. Maybe he was down. Maybe he wasn't at all. _And that's okay_, the blackness said. _It's okay to be nothing at all._ It made things easier, but for what, he didn't know. Every time the blackness tried to explain, static filled his ears and fogged up his mind. Showed him images of hunched backs and stretching, melted fingers. Of a woman tumbling through a window. Another hanging helplessly from a beam. A young man smiling through a porthole window - he looked terrified - and always his hand, grasping and pounding and useless.

It hurt too much to try to identify those faces. They just faded like wisps of smoke through his fingers when he tried. It became harder to hear them - their laughter, their screaming. His brow furrowed, his head ached. He reached for it, but could not find it in all of the darkness. He wondered if he had one at all. Before he could follow that thought too deeply down the rabbit hole, the blackness pressed softly against his brow and ceased the static. _Don't think about that_, it would say. An alien sensation crept through his brain like a mother's fingers playfully teasing a child's stomach. Soft, feathery touches that eased his mind. He sighed.

But still, the faces bothered him. Haunted him with familiar smiles and blurred features. He should know them. He reached for them again, but the more he tried, the tighter those fingers in his mind grew until they suddenly _clenched_, pressing until the memories started to fall away like petals. He screamed and bubbles burbled from his throat in a explosive torrent.

A hand wrapped around his forearm like steel. It burned with a familiar ache, making his blood sing back to life within the darkness. His sense of awareness spread from his forearm, up to his shoulde and across his body like sonar. He had a body. He had flesh, and blood, and tissue, and pain. His organs writhed, his skin smoldered, and all the while the hand tightened. It made him remember life.

"Do not succumb, Christopher," the voice growled sternly. It stirred up something latent in his blood and made it flare up to the surface. Various layers of years that composed his life bled and melted, and different versions howled and pressed as though they would burst from the pores of his skin all at once. Several voices screamed in hatred and disgust, crowed the man's name in contempt - and one tapered off like a ghost at the end with a small, relieved smile. _Captain. _Before he could grab that voice and smother it back into the darkness with the other wilted remnants of his past, the owner of the hand spirited the little petal away. He could feel it's passing, sense it was no longer his own. Rage bubbled through his veins. The hand tightened, and though his eyes were not open, he knew the owner of that hand was smirking.

"Yes, use your anger. I did not wait so very long for you to fail me now," the voice said, and anchored him as another wave of change pulsed through his body. The darkness pulled at him, told him _it was alright._ _It was okay to be tired. It was okay to not be at all. _

But the hand squeezed harder and made him open his eyes. He roared profanities and his frustration into the thick, watery darkness - bubbles curling from his mouth - but then the anger died as his own face just smiled right back at him with cold, dead eyes. Blue eyes, icier than his had ever been - like sea glass and glaciers. They glowed and pierced him deeply in the blackness, shining like stars in oblivion. Twice as bright.

"After every failed attempt to kill you, you're hardly allowed to die now, Christopher." His doppelganger grinned maliciously at him with a young face, younger than his had been in a long time. But it was not his youth or his unnatural eyes that made the blackness freeze around him. It was the voice - Wesker's voice - tumbling out of his lips that made his regenerated organs threaten to cease functioning.

Then the doppelganger lifted the small, wilted petal between two of his fingers for both of them to see. It was withered and black, and as old as the ache in his knees. His doppelganger looked from it to Chris' face and grinned‒

Then slammed it into Chris' chest. He screamed and howled for ages that yawned on like decades, and bubbles warbled to the surface with his captive cries of agony. The little petal disappeared within himself, and it burned all the way. For such pain it cost him, it was a little flare in the darkness. A small, smoldering thing deep inside - _trust_.

It glowed gold from within him. Something bitter he had forgotten. Memories seared through his eyes like overexposed filming spinning too quickly on a movie reel - bubbling and yellow and warped as laughter and smiles and his old team whispered through his vision like old ghosts.

And then it stopped. His muscles twitched and jumped as adrenaline pumped through his system. The darkness wasn't so thick now, and he sank through it until his feet finally found a floor and stood solidly upon it. His doppelganger kept him upright by one hand at his elbow. He breathed deeply as that old and foreign coal of trust cooled within him. It settled and disappeared, but he could sense it there. Lingering. His breathing eased. His muscles relaxed. The pain faded, and as it did, he pulled away from the doppelganger and straightened.

Chris put distance between himself and his mirror image, taking in contrasting differences. His 40 year-old body turned to address his 25 year-old body. He glared and his reflection smiled knowingly. The doppelganger's unearthly eyes appraised him, then smiled wider. A smile he had seen before, but not on his face.

"Six billion cries of agony will birth a new balance, and you willbe there to see the dawn."

"I'm not going to let that happen," Chris said, but it sounded weak amidst all the darkness and space around them. In the far corner of his vision, he could see a thin red line break through the darkness and light began to slowly spill over the horizon. He looked towards it, his copy did not.

"A noble lie," his doppelganger said, his dark clothing bleeding into the space around them, "But a lie all the same."

Helplessness and fury burned through his veins at the words, fueling him and pushing his limbs to lung forward. He struck the doppelganger across the face, but his fist didn't connect. Instead, it just passed through darkness as the creature suddenly disappeared. Then he was being spun around by a strong hand at his shoulder, and a large fist collided heavily with his face, sending him sprawling across the endless, black abyss. He lay on his back groaning, feeling as the snapped bones of his cheek slowly mended beneath his skin, and tried to ignore the growing panic at realizing his body _shouldn't _be healing so quickly.

When his doppelganger than lowered down to a low, kneeling straddle above him, Chris tried to fend off the hands that grabbed the neck of his uniform and pulled him up. Those blue eyes stared into his face and grinned at him from inches away, teeth bared territorially.

"Whether you choose to wake up and face reality or stay here, I will remain. So leave your body to me or fight me, I don't care," the doppelganger said as he raised his fist to strike, "Just decide."

And then the fist landed.

* * *

When Chris woke, it was not a full body jerk out of the nightmare, but rather a very quick realization this his eyelids had already been open. Instead of waking from sleep, it was like escaping from some weird extended cousin of sleepwalking. One second, Chris was collapsing in his cell and the next, he was waking up knife deep in a steak. The meat bled pleasantly with finely cooked juices as he slowed his cutting to a stop. His brows wrinkled up as he stared at his plate.

His heart began to beat frantically as he realized that he didn't know how he got there, or why, or for how long he had been sitting there at all. And then over twenty years of training kicked in. Without putting the utensils down, Chris slowly looked up through his lashes and checked his surroundings. The slower and less obvious his movements the better.

He was in a kitchen, seated at a small table. The kitchen wasn't anything special. In all honesty, it actually reminded him of the one back at the B.S.A.A. training facility, but smaller. Way smaller.

And there was another plate beside him, bare hands cutting the steak slowly and more tenderly than he had been. Those hands led to rolled up black sleeves and a face that made his stomach drop. Wesker was eating beside him. Wesker _ate, _and they were eating _together_.

Chris grabbed his knife and flew back from his seat, causing it to clatter unhappily to the ground as he put some distance between himself and the blond, knife drawn and ready. A wave of nausea made his nostrils flare as he breathed through it, but his knife remained steady.

"What the hell is going on?!" His throat burned when he spoke, making his voice rasp sickly.

Wesker didn't seem perturbed by the sudden reaction. He didn't even stop eating.

"Ah, you're finally back. Good. I was beginning to wonder if you weren't as viable a subject as I had thought. I'm glad that's not the case."

"What do you mean, 'back'? Back from where? What the hell did you do to me!"

Wesker set down his fork with a sigh and then wiped his face with the napkin beside his leather gloves. "It would be best if you would calm yourself, Christopher. It is not in your best interests to get riled up."

Chris just raised the knife a little higher. "Try me."

"I did not mean in that sense," Wesker said with a small wave of his hand. "Don't be so dramatic."

"Dramatic? You infected me with‒" Chris' outburst stumbled to a stop as everything hit him in a rush. He was infected. _Infected_. The sudden urge to check himself for mutations overpowered his cautiousness as he flung his arms out and looked down. What he found unsettled him more than he could have imagined.

There was nothing wrong.

No random black tentacles peeking out from his forearms or abdomen. No claws protruding from his fingers or unearthly features marring his skin. If anything, his skin looked healthier - a creamy sort of tan color he hadn't had in years. And younger. He pushed and pulled at the skin of his wrist and hand. Skin that had been beginning to loosen there with age was tight and firm again. He pulled back his loose sleeves - which he distinctly remembered not being loose when he put them on before - to find that his arms were more streamlined and not as buff. He wasn't as slender as he had been back in S.T.A.R.S., but a quick pull at his waistband confirmed that he was definitely thinner than he had been a day and a half ago. His expression must have been confused, because Wesker chuckled, grabbing his attention.

"You're not weaker, if that's what you're wondering. The virus perfected your musculature in accordance with your height and body type. You might seem smaller, but your muscles pack 15 times the punch they did a day ago, I assure you."

Chris scowled, but didn't doubt the man. Years of bench pressing, and the virus did in hours what years could never have achieved. It made him sick. He quickly pulled his knife-hand up in Wesker's direction once more as his free hand pressed against his abdomen, looking for an imperfection. A scar, a mutation - anything.

"You won't find anything. I did not infect you with Uroboros or some other watered-down imperfection of evolution. I perfected you."

"Call it whatever you want but it doesn't change my opinion on it," Chris snarled. "It's inhuman and I want it out!"

"It's not a Plaga, Chris. I cannot simply remove it, nor would I," Wesker said as he rose from his chair. "I'm not sure what it is that's confusing you, but there is no cure for this. It _is _the cure."

Chris snorted. "A cure for what?"

"Death. Cancer. Illness. Age. The natural degradation of mankind."

"Those things are what make us human!"

"Really? Cancer makes us human? When you think about the natural genetic tendency for women in your family to suffer from breast cancer, you think that it's okay that your baby sister will probably develop it because it's human?" Wesker asked.

"How the hell did you‒?!"

"‒Of course not. No one wants to die. No one wants to deal with arthritis or the natural decomposition of life before death. Don't your knees feel better? Your eyes sharper? Your mind clearer? Look me in the eyes and honestly tell me that you would trade it all back for _death._"

Chris took a heavy but soundless step forward and growled, "I would." He glared Wesker down and tried not to think about the way he could see his own eyes glowing back on the surface of the man's black, reflective lenses - ice blue and familiar.

Wesker stared at him seriously for a long time, considering his aggressive stance and glaring eyes before smiling slowly and widely.

"Let's see how long you believe that."

"It's not going to change."

"But it will. Even now, it is changing. Your opinion on the human condition is an illusion, Christopher. What you perceive to be normal will soon become detestable as the rest of the world evolves past your morals and ideals about how our weak bodies make us great, and slowly, you will change with it. It is inevitable."

And then Chris threw the first punch, knife whizzing along with his fist as he flung himself at Wesker about a million times faster than he was anticipating he would. It resulted in Wesker dodging with a knowing smirk and Chris lodging his fist into the wall down to his elbow several feet away. He pulled it out, a cloud of plaster escaping with the limb as he stared at the uninjured body part in shock.

"Faster, younger, immune, smarter…well, maybe not smarter for you," Wesker said with a dark chuckle. Chris turned on him with a growl and lunged forward again, though this time concentrating on his velocity. He ended up attacking the blond at a much more acceptable speed, but with all his attention on his movements, he missed it when Wesker dipped out of the way and quickly sent a bruising jab at his ribs. A day ago, that jab would have fractured his ribcage and sent him flying. Now, it barely winded him.

"Evolution is inevitable," Wesker said as he dipped out of the way of another attack. "Even now you are evolving. Adapting to your new abilities, and quite impressively. It is natural to evolve, Christopher. I merely sped up process."

"What gave you the right to do that?" Chris yelled as he delivered a swift roundhouse in Wesker's direction. It was a hair's breadth away from connecting. "There's a reason why we haven't gotten there yet!"

Wesker grinned, "Do you really want to ask me that question?"

Memories bubbled up to the surface of Wesker's clone in Africa, proclaiming his status as god with wide spread arms and a demented glint to his eyes. Tentacles writhing around him as he took step after smoldering step towards him in that damnable volcano, the leather soles of his shoes smoking as they blistered against the molten ground.

His moment of déjàvu cost him, leaving him mentally reeling as Wesker grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back until the pain tore the knife from his grasp with a clatter. He remembered the way Wesker had initially knocked him out back on the roof of the secret base and felt a trill of fear slide through his veins. He struggled, but the blond man simply wrenched the offending limb further.

"As much fun as this has been, finally fighting someone even remotely close to my level, _enough_. Calm down, Christopher. The last thing I need is for the virus to force you back into a catatonic state just because you got too excited."

He wanted to snarl, he wanted to pull his arm free and continue the fight. He wanted to be free and human and back at the B.S.A.A. He wanted Wesker to just stay dead. But despite all those feelings raging through his head, his body relaxed instead. Not significantly, he didn't suddenly go sprawling to the floor, but the rage that had been fueling his adrenaline crazed fight suddenly felt like sand rushing between his hands when he grasped for it. He could pick up some of it, but not all of it, and the small handfuls he managed to catch weren't enough to continue.

Chest heaving, Chris let out a frustrated growl. "What the hell did you do to me?"

Wesker released his hand then and returned to the table. He gently touched his meal and frowned as he licked his finger clean with a disappointed, "Cold, of course," and looked back at Chris. "I think I've answered enough questions for today."

Chris opened his mouth to argue, but a wave of fatigue and the nausea from when he first woke suddenly washed over him, stealing the words from his mouth as he tried to wait out the sick feeling. When it finally passed, it left him feeling weary and exhausted. He glared at Wesker with a sour look.

"I thought you said the virus was perfect."

"I thought you said pain and weakness made you human?" Wesker replied simply from over his shoulder as he took their plates to the microwave. "It is merely a side effect of the transformation. The virus consumed a lot of energy getting you this far. After disregarding my warning at the beginning of this little conversation, I imagine you won't remain cognitive for much longer."

That made his stomach clench coldly. The thought of returning to a catatonic state while in the presence of a madman turned his blood to ice. The thought of returning to that black abyss from his dream made it worse. Fatigue made him sit down in the seat he had woken up in.

"Will I wake up again?"

Wesker gestured to the large assortment of dirty dishes piled in the sink. "You'll continue to eat me out of my kitchen and most likely return to your cognitive faculties once the virus has completed the transformation, yes."

Chris glanced from Wesker's turned back to the door. Despite the fatigue, it was tempting. Maybe he could find somewhere to hide until the process ended, then escape. His attention must have been on the door for too long, because suddenly Wesker was beside him.

"You can try, but I will find you. You'll find no escape from this, Christopher."

Before he could answer, the microwave was beeping. He blinked, and suddenly a steaming plate was being set down before him. Chris realized that he was beginning to lose time, his mind fading in and out like a bad TV signal. The fact that he wouldn't just slump over and fall asleep unsettled him. It was more like a switch would be flipped and he'd go into power saver mode; like a laptop or a machine.

"This isn't over," Chris muttered.

"I have no doubts," Wesker said with a smirking quirk to his lips as he began to eat again.

And then the switch flipped.

* * *

[a/n] Hey guys, it was brought to my attention that posting responses to comments isn't allowed anymore? I'm not quite sure - I tried to look it up and couldn't find anything on it... but, as sad as it might seem, this is the easiest way for me to respond to comments. I know that I get a respond to link with each e-mail that comes in, but I get most of those e-mails while at work and through my phone, and then I forget to respond to them and etc. It's always been easiest for me to respond to them all in one go at the end of each chapter. I've seen a lot of other users do it (and I've been doing it for years) ... but I don't want to break the rules, either. So after this chapter, I'll probably (hopefully) start keeping up with the e-mails and responding to you all individually. Thanks for letting me know! If anyone knows for 100% sure whether this is a rule or not, let me know and I'll make the changes to the way I do things accordingly. Thanks again for updating me, I had no idea the rules had changed. It's been a while since my last fanfiction. XD

BTW, I didn't have as much time to spell check/edit the chapter...so...sorry. . Hopefully it's not too bad.

**Emil Lime** - Thank you so much for all the reviews! Reading your responses to each chapter as you caught up was truly honoring and fun - and you were so kind, thanks! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story and getting into it, and I hope to continue to hear from ya! Thanks for letting me know about the comment thing, too. As posted above, I also don't know if it is or isn't allowed. Hopefully allowed, because its the easiest way for me to respond without forgetting to respond to everyone, etc. But if anyone finds out that it's 100% not allowed, I'll go back through the chapters and delete these sections. 3 Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Kyle** - Thanks!

**Rachel** - Thank you! Glad you're enjoying it! I personally like the idea that Piers lived, thus the fanfiction, lol. I can dream, right? XD

**Nadia-91** - Welp, the update didn't end up happening as soon as I would have liked (I had so much trouble getting this chapter to work the way I wanted it to!), but it's finally here! I hope you liked it! 3 Thanks for reading!

**orangepotato** - I'm so, so, SO HONORED that someone recommended this story to you, and so glad you're enjoying it! Oh wow, I can't believe someone recommended it! :D That totally made my day! 3 Thank you so much for the review!

**Guest** - Thank you! :D

**bloody raptor** - -eye brow waggle- I guess you'll find out when they finally meet face to face, huh? 3 Lots of fun things to come, so I hope you keep reading! I always enjoy reading your predictions. 3

**piplupfan580** - Right? Deranged boob monsters are the worst flying companions, for serious. XD But Leon DOES have an uncanny ability to crash anything he touches that has wheels on it. Or wings. Boats seem to be the only thing immune to his magical crashing powers. lol.

**Guest** - Thank you! -glomp-

**Sokulski** - Glad you enjoyed it! :D

**Hakumei-chan** - Well, I'm glad you're reading and enjoying it now~! I hope you continue to, too! 3

**Ultimolu** - "YOU CRAZY MON! \o-o/" = the best thing ever. XD Oh, we'd be sooo doomed if he were real. Hahaha!

I hope I got everyone! :D Thank you all so much for supporting me throughout the journey thus far! Hopefully the next update will be soon! :D


	9. By Any Other Name

Chapter 9: By Any Other Name

After the way Leon had sat in the lush, comfy chairs on the private jet, Piers was surprised to hear the soft huff of relief the man let out when he walked off the plane. He had been draped in his seat in a manner Piers was pretty sure no paranoid secret agent should, but evidently it had been a rouse, which kind of made Piers feel better for feeling so anxious himself. The last time he had been in a jet, it had been to stop a missile from firing at China…

The memory of their failure tasted sore in his mouth.

An elbow in his ribs effectively batted the memory away for him, bringing him back to the present and Leon grinning at him.

"See? I told you it was just a B.S.A.A. wives' tale!"

"Well, you crash enough things and people start talking," Piers said half jokingly, half seriously as he tried to shake the tight, nervous feeling he had been flying with for the past several hours. "This isn't a layover or something, is it? We're actually here?"

"Yes, Agent Nivans," said a female voice from behind him, "We're actually here."

Piers saw Leon grin widely and look at something past his shoulder before he turned around to find a woman with light coffee colored skin standing behind him. Her pencil-neck skirt and professional looking suit added crisp, dark grey lines to her body that accentuated her curves despite the very no-nonsense expression she wore. She held an iPad in her hands and had the little tablet tucked to her chest as she gave the B.S.A.A. agent a curt nod in greeting.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Special Agent Nivans," she said.

"Piers!" Leon said as he clapped the younger man firmly on his right shoulder, "This is the gem of the Secret Service, F.O.S. Agent Ingrid Hunnigan. And Hunnigan! Is that the scarf I got you?"

Piers gave Leon a confused sideways look. He knew the man often worked alone, but the speed with which he jumped from topic to topic threw him off balance. Eager for company, it would seem.

Hunnigan's cheeks darkened very slightly as she delicately adjusted the dark, ashy blue scarf wrapped neatly around her neck. She cleared her throat and turned her eyes to her iPad as she began to swipe at it with quick, efficient fingers.

"Astute as always, Leon. Now let's get back to the matter at hand - the data chip and the kidnapped B.S.A.A. Captain."

Piers stepped out of the hand that was on his shoulder and took another step towards the woman. "An F.O.S. Agent? If you specialize in field support, why are you out here_ in the field_?"

"I'm not." At the young man's unamused face, she gestured to Leon. "Leon, if you'd please?"

"Not a problem." That was when Piers caught a bit of motion out of the corner of his eye and saw the older agent shake a small, glowing cube he was holding lightly in his hand. Piers hadn't noticed him take it out or activate it, which left him with an eerie mixture of awe and unease in his stomach.

When Leon shook the little device, the once crystal clear image of Hunnigan glitched slightly, and a bit of static like a TV screen tuning into a better frequency rolled over her form until the cube settled and she returned to HD clarity once more.

Piers felt his jaw drop. Leon grinned.

"I get the neatest toys, don't I?"

"Boys, focus," Hunnigan said. "We've got a Captain and a chip to find."

"Do you know where Wesker took them?" Piers asked.

"I'm sorry, Agent Nivans, but no. We lost their chopper somewhere along the Maryland/Virginia state line. We haven't been able to catch even a trace of their trail since. We did follow the tracking beacon that was in Captain Redfield's knife, but we found the knife buried down to the hilt in a tree this morning with no sign of the chopper anywhere."

"Then why did we fly here if we don't have a lead?"

"To recruit."

"We could recruit anywhere," Piers said, "We could've done it in Washington, DC!"

She was about to open her mouth to continue with her mission brief when her eyes focused on something beyond Piers and Leon. Both men turned around to see a small group of B.S.A.A. soldiers jogging down the tarmac towards them. The one in the lead waved at them as he jogged, and when he came to a halt in front of them, he already had his hand extended.

"Captain Stone, it's been a long time!" Leon said as he clasped the man's hand in a strong grip. When he let go, he leaned back and gestured to Piers. "Josh, this is Special Agent Piers Nivans. He's apart of Chris' team."

"One of Redfield's, huh?" Josh said with a large, gleaming smile as he shook Piers' hand. "I owe that man more than just my life. We'll do everything we can to ensure he comes home safe."

"I-" Piers said, "That's good to hear."

"Piers," Leon said, "This is Joshua Stone, Co-Branch Commander of the B.S.A.A.'s African branch. I'm sure you've heard of him. He's going to help us find Chris and the chip."

After greeting Hunnigan, Josh then turned back to Leon. "The Branch Commander extends her apologies for not being her to greet you on the tarmac. She's taking care of a small matter at the moment. She'll meet us in the conference room. We'll wait there while the boys fuel up your ride."

"Thanks, Josh."

The soldiers that Josh had brought with him then walked towards the jet, moving with a practiced efficiency as Josh and Leon walked towards the base. Piers didn't immediately follow, his face troubled.

"Something wrong, Agent Nivans?" Hunnigan said, startling him. He had expected her hologram to follow Leon. Evidently the cube had good range.

"We could have just as easily built up a team in Washington, DC. It's not that I don't appreciate their help, but Africa wasn't exactly close."

Hunnigan smiled. "Because DC doesn't have Sheva Alomar, that's why."

Piers' blood stilled. He knew that name just as well as he knew Chris' or any of the other heroes of the B.S.A.A. It excited him to know he would get to meet the woman who had fought beside Chris against Wesker just as much as it terrified him. He didn't know if he could bear to see another one of his heroes for what they really were - human.

But he shoved the selfish thought into a small box in his mind and forced himself to walk forward. Everyone had a right to be human.

* * *

It was hard not to get lost in the feeling of being young again. His knees didn't hurt anymore. Sounds that he didn't know had been dull were suddenly so rich. Color was sharp, the air was easier to inhale. Shortly after waking from his third blackout in the kitchen, Wesker sent Chris to an employee/lab locker room to get cleaned up. It was the first thing Chris could claim he was grateful for‒the fact that Wesker hadn't taken it upon himself to clean him while he was in his catatonic-robot state or whatever the hell it was.

His time in the shower had been his first chance to actually pause and reflect upon all the changes the virus had done to him. His toned and slenderer form; his aches, or more accurately, his lack thereof; and his appearance. His face was younger, the wrinkles he had gained from the hard years of his life wiped away as if someone had smoothed them out of his skin with their thumb. And his eyes. He was glad they weren't red and surprised they weren't cat-slitted, but the unearthly way with which they actually _glowed_ unsettled him; a blazing glacial blue that startled him every time he caught them in the mirror. So bright it hurt to look at them.

Then again, a lot of things were too bright to look at. A side effect of the change, Wesker had said. The sensitivity would pass. It would likely be the last real pain he ever felt. That sensitivity, however, was why the blond had picked the location he had picked for the training exercises: dull, dim, dark, dank catacombs nestled somewhere within the belly of the facility Wesker had spirited him away to. A part of him was grateful for it‒it didn't hurt down here in the dark. But another part of him was unsettled by it. The dark was wrong. As the dark did for all things, it made him hyperaware and reliant on his instincts. But his instincts had changed.

He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes as he tried to shake off another wave of foreign impulses. It was like a second heartbeat within him, pulsing and ever-present. If he didn't concentrate, the feelings would catch him off guard here in the dark, sliding through the stone of his mental walls like water. It wasn't as though there was a voice demanding murder in his head. The urges were far more subtle than that. They did not demand blood, they demanded acknowledgment. They demanded he listened, because his way was obsolete. One second he'd be thinking about finding a way to escape, and the next…

He pressed his fingertips to the skin of the water lightly, just barely breaking the surface pressure. He could feel movement in the calf-deep water of the catacombs. Some of it belonged to the pitter patter of the water falling from the ceiling. The sound of their descent sang a concerto through the narrow halls. But some - some did not. Some belonged to the pathetic creatures that Wesker kept here for God knew what reason. He could feel the way they passed through the water, claws scrapping the cement bottom and furrowing out long, deep grooves. They gargled sickly when they breathed; imperfect hosts that succumbed to imperfect viruses. If he closed his eyes and spread out his awareness, he could tell exactly how many there were and where they were just by the slight way the water moved across his legs, and‒

‒Chris snapped back with a horrible gasping flinch and water sloshed loudly around him in response. His chest heaved and he could hear his younger heartbeat thrashing frantically within his ribcage.

"If you keep fighting it, you'll never find me, Christopher," Wesker said simply.

Chris put two shaky fingers to the device in his ear and growled, "I can find you just fine without the virus. I've been doing it for years."

"Yes, that's why I've been waiting here for hours. Because your human instincts are so much more _efficient_ than those of my virus. I apologize for not seeing it myself sooner."

The B.S.A.A. agent scowled, his eyes darting to an opening on his upper left when the sound of sloshing water began to emit from that direction. He lowered his voice.

"I feel so bad for holding up your schedule," he said flatly.

"Hmph. Whether you choose out of your own free will or necessity, it will be the instincts that _I_ gave you that bring you to me. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

And then the line disconnected again. Chris muttered a curse at the man and raised his hands into a loose defensive gesture as he neared the entrance the sound had come from. With the virus' instincts, everything felt one hundred times more intense. Now that he had shoved them back and Wesker had left him in silence, Chris noticed the way that everything seemed darker, muted in comparison to just a moment ago.

When he finally turned around the corner, nothing was there, but he didn't lower his hands.

The catacombs were extensive. Whatever was down here might have gone another direction, but he'd run into it sooner or later. Something whispered innocently in his mind‒if he gave in for just a moment, he'd know where the creature went. Just like that, he would feel it. It would be easy to cross that line quickly and then hop back, but how many times could he do that before the line turned into a blurry mess. Chris clenched his jaw.

Wesker was right. If he didn't find a way out of here, he could be stuck down here for days. With the amount of energy the virus had been consuming in this early stage of his growth, how long did he have before it put him into another catatonic state and _made him _cross the line? Would it even wait to find Wesker before it tried to eat something. Chris was pretty sure he wouldn't find any steak down here.

The slight clench his hands made from the mere thought of what could happen caused the leather combat gloves Wesker had provided to squeal minutely. The creature that lunged at him in response, Chris was ready for. He dodged beneath the swipe of huge claws and rolled to the side with a nimbleness he hadn't had in years. The movement in turn drenched the solid black combat fatigues he had been given to replace his tattered B.S.A.A. uniform, but he didn't notice the water's added weight.

The creature stared at him with dumb, beady eyes. Chris' heart went from professional to still in a matter of moments as his eyes adjusted and he recognized what had lunged at him. It was a Napad. Like Ben, Carl, and Andy. Like Finn.

He instinctually raised his hands as if aiming a rifle, his human faculties overriding his animalistic ones as the beast stretched its arms out and howled into the catacombs. Answering howls began to rise up from the area, the pressure of their song dislodging loose stone from the ceiling and making the water quiver in its wake.

But Chris stared too long, just as he had when it had been Finn rushing him. The Napad dug its two large hands into the ground and forcefully threw itself toward him before he even realized that the gun he was aiming was just air. And there was no Piers here to cover him this time. No Sheva. No Jill...

Time slowed. Waves pressed against his knees, steadily getting more forceful as the brute tore up the concrete floor to get to him. The sound of its claws ripping through the ground grew dull in his ears as he focused his senses on the Napad's movements. He noted the way it moved, how quickly it was moving, how much space it was taking in the narrow tunnel, and calculated on when the opportune moment would be to slide past the charging beast and run for it.

He lowered his body to a runner's crouch, preparing himself as the creature raised one eerily familiar clawed appendage into the air to strike him with. A blow with that much momentum behind it would surely stun him back into another coma, and Chris had no intention of letting that happen. But he couldn't fight the thing without a weapon, either. As the creature leaned to the right to raise its arm even higher, never slowing in its rush, Chris tensed his muscles to spring forward.

He had timed it perfectly, he was going to make it. He'd slide right under the creature's arm and run away. But before he could even start to run, a second set of claws wrapped around his head and neck, and threw him through a wall. The catacombs shook as he barreled through a non-supporting wall and became embedded in another. A spider web of wet, splintery cracks spread out from him in the concrete in all directions by at least three feet, stone crumbling where the structure was at its weakest. The clenching fear when he realized that being thrown through one wall and into another _didn't hurt _was quickly overshadowed when he realized that there were not just two Napads. There were many. They were freaking _Legion_.

As Chris tumbled down from the wall to his knees‒stunned‒he saw more hulking figures looming in the shadows of the new tunnel he had been thrown into, and they were shambling ever steadily nearer. He counted at least ten, with a few shapes further in each direction that could be the telltale sign of more. The one that had thrown him slammed its fists at the hole it had made in the wall until the hole was a gaping entrance in the stonework. It howled and all the others answered.

Even in Edonia, there had never been this many. Close, but then he had had his men beside him (for most of it), a gun in his hands, and open space to work with.

Now he was alone, weaponless, and in a series of narrow, uncooperative catacombs about twice as wide as he was tall.

He rolled to his feet liquidly and lowered himself into another crouch. His eyes darted between all the bulky bodies as they slowly advanced toward him, forming a hard, armored wall of muscles and exoskeleton around him. And then they stopped, each one about two arm lengths away and breathing heavily over top of him as they loomed there, dumb and menacing. His own breathing was louder.

"You can choose to willingly utilize the virus or your body will make the decision for you. Either way, the result is the same," Wesker said suddenly in his ear.

"You could call them off," Chris suggested in a low voice. Not low enough, though. It agitated the Napads and they collectively began to take another step forward, eyes glistening and lungs rasping beneath their armor. Chris winced.

"I can't, actually. They are not of my virus. I have just about as much control over them as you do. They are imperfect creatures to be extinguished, which you could do with ease even against so many if you would just accept the inevitable."

"And if I don't?"

"Inevitable by any other name is still as certain and unavoidable, Christopher. It's time you learned that."

And then the static was gone again. Chris cursed in frustration, a hard, huffing word that was carried out with his breath and a jerk from his body. It triggered them, hard bodies lunging at him from all angles. Chris returned the gesture, rushing the one nearest him and throwing it into the wall with a force only moderately stronger than what he was used to. He was on top of it, hands clawing at the exoskeleton, making the thing howl when a fleshy claw hammered him in the ribs and sent him flying into another Napad. The creature's armor was definitely harder than the wall he had crashed through, but still he felt no pain.

He fought wildly, knuckles splitting with the force of his punches against the serrated armor only to heal seconds after pulling away. A burning feeling licked at his stomach, demanding nourishment, but still he fought. There, down in the darkness amongst the writhing, infected bodies of men and women past, Chris fought with every last inch of himself.

And then some more.

* * *

[a/n] Sorry it took so long. . BUT I LOVE YOU GUYS! Thanks for your patience!

Sokulski - Don't worry, I don't plan on quitting this story until it's done. So you'll find out. :) And ta-da! He's even in this chapter, lol. Thanks for reading! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!

Ze110t - Oh wow, I'm so honored! Thank you for doing that, I hope you continue to enjoy the chapters! :D You made my day! 3

Emil Lime - Thanks for checking on that for me, I appreciate it. :) And thank you also for the kind words. I'm really glad you enjoyed the sleep/dream part (I was really worried it out be too weird... haha!) and yeah - Wesker eating. Strange, right? I picture him eating really posh foods, lol. Or super healthy and not enjoyable foods. Haha! I hope you continue to read and enjoy the chapters! I always look forward to reading your opinions about the updates. :)

orangepotato - *glomp* THANK YOU! Your kind words really made my day, just seriously, thanks! I was really worried about the abstract beginning, so it's nice to hear from you and a few others that it went over well! And I'm really glad you commented about Wesker's views - it's actually been my favorite part about writing this story. I really imagine that Wesker believes what he is doing is right. He's not doing it for himself, but for the collective "humanity" and in a weird, warped way, you can kind of understand his logic. As twisted and costly as it may be. And I could honestly see the world coming to a point like this in the future. And I'm really glad you feel he is in character - he is a hard one to pin. He's smarter than me, haha. I'm sorry that you won't get to see Nivanfield in this, but I do hope the other pairings make up for it. ;) and then, of course, Chris and Piers are brothers in arms - so lots of interaction from them to come. Thanks again for the review, I really enjoyed reading it! I would go in more depth as to Wesker's cray-cray-ness, but it would take years (or a fanfiction) for me to finish, lol. Thanks! Hope you continue to read and enjoy it!

Morriganna - ...not sure if by threesome you mean the innocent concept of "they all work together against a common advisory" or in the perverted sense...haha! BUT, no. The three of them (in either scenario) will never work together on the same side. The first of the two would be interesting for another story though -strokes chin and ponders- lol! Either way, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :D

bloody raptor - Chris is definitely up a creek without a paddle, I agree with ya there. And stay tuned for more about why Jill went crazy. :D Thanks for the review! I'm glad you are still enjoying the story. 3

Ultimolu - Yep. Chris scares himself sometimes when he randomly starts bursting out into evil cackles - haha, but seriously. Guess you'll have to stay tuned and find out. ;) Sorry I haven't gotten to read your story, yet. I have trouble keeping up with internet stuff (like writing this and reading other fanfiction) between work, job hunting, traveling, and sytycv... BUT I read the description and it looks seriously interesting! I'm excited to start reading it, and I plan to come Christmas break! :D

Thanks to all of you for your constant support, your patience, and your excitement. Every review always makes my day, and I love reading your reactions and theories! I hope you all continue to enjoy the story!


	10. Small Gestures

Chapter 10: Small Gestures

He couldn't remember when he passed out, but it must have happened, because Chris was back in the abyss. It was different now, more evolved, Chris noticed. More complete. The last time it had been miles and miles of nothing in every direction. The absence of light, ground, and air - thick and oppressive.

Now it was like standing on still water; still endlessly expansive, but he could tell what was up and what was down. Chris took one exhausted step forward and the water's surface rippled lightly out into the distance in response. Despite the fact that it was still so dark, he could see his reflection when he looked down upon the water-like surface he was standing on.

He was 40 again, he noted with surprise. His eyes were human once more - dull and burdened with heavy bags, but they were his eyes. His human eyes. As he raised one hand to them to make sure it wasn't a trick, he changed course and gently touched the weeping gash on his cheek that spread from the corner of his mouth all the way up to his earlobe. He hissed very lightly when his fingers finally made contact. Blood had crusted into his stubble and pulled at the wound's edge's irritatingly. Noticing one pain was like opening the floodgates to notice them all, and suddenly Chris found himself taking one staggering step forward, his body hunched over in pain as the damage in his side made itself known.

One look down confirmed that the situation was serious. His entire side was a huge mass of red that had crusted from his right abdominals down to the waist and pocket of his uniform. Trembling fingers pressed lightly into the punctures and torn flesh he found gouged out there, and more blood dribbled warmly over the questing digits as he did so. Realizing the wound was there made a large bubble of iron pool in his mouth. He gagged weakly.

"So stubborn," a familiar voice said from behind him, "What good does that quality really do you, Chris?"

He turned around, his eyes narrow as he regarded his 25-year-old self speaking with his face and Wesker's voice. The doppelganger was wearing a pair of dark army fatigues, the same thing Chris himself was wearing - clothes given to him by Wesker. The fatigues fit Chris just fine, but they looked like they belonged on his double. He frowned, his breath a wet rasp beneath his breath as he growled at the creature.

"None of your damn business," Chris answered.

His younger self seemed calmer than the mad creature that had tormented him in the abyss before. Chris winced as pain fluttered in his chest remembering their last meeting. The creature caught the expression and tilted his head, his face unimpressed, and said, "But it is my business. You are my Host."

"…You're the virus."

The virus gave him a considering gaze. "In a manner of speaking… The word you have used to define me with is suitable, although limited."

Chris' side let out a knee-trembling throb, but he did his best not to show it as he glared the creature down. The virus' face twitched ever so slightly as it regarded him.

"I blacked out."

"Hardly surprising. You should be dead."

"Then let me die."

The virus let out a little huff and raised its chin a bit. Blood oozed between Chris' fingers.

"What?" Chris asked through clenched teeth.

"That's a little ungrateful, don't you think?"

"I didn't ask for this," Chris said simply.

"Neither did I."

Chris let out a disgusted breath. "I really don't think it's the same."

"Regardless, I do not want to die," The virus said as it began to walk closer, "Therefore, you cannot die."

Chris took a step back, but the virus just kept walking closer.

"Stop."

And then the virus tore his hand from his wound and dug its own fingers in instead. Chris swallowed his scream before it could escape, and the sound died pathetically in his throat. The virus' fingers clenched, then it felt as though they were melting into the wound.

"When you wake, get up, take two lefts and you'll reach an intersection of tunnels. Take the right-most path and you'll find a ruined section in the wall halfway through the tunnel. Behind that wall are the stairs up to where the First is." The virus paused, his head tilted as if hearing something from far off, then continued. "When you get to the top of the stairs, just wait for a minute. You'll understand why when you do it."

Chris' hands scrabbled to push the virus away, but the creature wouldn't budge. His side felt like it was on fire.

"Why are you telling me this?" He barely managed to ask.

"A gesture of good faith," the virus said into his ear. "I'm not your enemy, Chris."

And then Chris was awake, waist deep in water and gore with his back pressed against a ruined tunnel wall. He inhaled deep gulps of air as the pain from his side receded and eventually became a light ache. With trembling hands, Chris pushed the tattered remains of his army fatigues out of the way to see the muscled wall of his stomach had healed. The skin had sewn shut and become a dark purple blossom of color on his abdominals, but even now he could see the color fading. Healing.

He thrust his head back against the tunnel wall and tried to collect his thoughts. Exhaustion washed over him in a wave, and before he even realized what he was doing, he had one hand in the water. He didn't have to force it to happen - the senses the virus had given him were always right there, just waiting under the surface of his skin. It took more energy to ignore them than it did to use them, really. At the moment, he was too tired to even feel ashamed of utilizing them as he took stock of his surroundings.

There were no more infected currently in the tunnels, other than the gored remains of the ones he - or the virus - had killed moments ago. And that's all he needed to know, he told himself as he forcefully slammed the valve of powers shut in his mind. Even after just using the skill for a second, turning it off felt like he was blindfolding himself. The implications made him feel uneasy.

Something wet, dead, and fleshy bobbed up against his hand as it listlessly floated in the water, reminding him he couldn't stay. The death would attract things, and even if there were no other creatures down there right now, it didn't mean Wesker wouldn't add more at any second. Although his muscles screamed with fatigue, he forced himself up.

"I thought perfection would feel a bit better than this," Chris groused as his stomach boiled with need within him. He was starving - but he cut that thought off before acknowledging the fact made his hunger worse. He focused his thoughts on putting one step in front of another, again and again. Before he could even realize that he was obeying the virus' instruction, he found himself outside the ruined wall it had spoken of. He didn't know how long it had taken him to get there - a fact that made his insides cold, the threat of a relapse back into a coma clenching at his guts - but he did pause long enough to make sure it was something he wanted to do.

Why should he trust the virus, he thought. And with a grimace, he realized that it was because the virus was his best bet. Alone, he had no clearer an idea of where he should go than the virus had given. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep functioning as Chris Redfield without nutrients, and he'd rather take these steps as himself than whatever he became whenever he entered one of his comas. There was nothing to say that this wasn't a trap and that more B.O.W.s didn't await him at the top of the stairs, but Chris just had to rely on the virus' word. A gesture of good faith.

After all, if the virus wanted Chris to fall back into a coma so it could steal the reigns, it could have just held it's tongue and waited for the man to pass out. It wouldn't have taken much longer, the BSAA agent conceded to himself as he slowly began the trek up the stairs. His soaked boots left muddy, red footprints in their wake as he climbed. He could feel a sense of anticipation just under his skin. As if the virus was right there, just itching to say _you need to hurry up_, but wouldn't. It took the steps a little slower then, just to spite the feeling. Little liberties.

As he climbed the stairs, a feeling began to reemerge at the back of his neck. It had never really left, Chris realized, but the closer he got to the top of the stairs, the stronger it grew. A familiar feeling, one he had felt a handful of times before. At the Arklay Mountains, at Rockford Island and the Spencer Estate, in Africa, on the roof just before he had been taken‒

His line of thinking came to an abrupt stop as he stilled all of his senses to listen to noises he could hear from above. He was close to the top of the stairs, the exit blocked by a trap door, and beyond it, he could hear Wesker talking.

"‒They're there now? Excellent, it's just as I predicted." A pause. "Hmm. No, no, we'll use the others, too. They'll serve as a good distraction at least." Another pause. "No, I think it's best we have you keep your distance while he is still so…_young._ In the meantime, send our friends in Africa our little gift to get the ball rolling. Once you're done, contact me on this number." And then the phone ended with a soft click. Not a Smartphone, then, Chris noted as he took the last few steps out of the stairwell and opened the trap doors.

The stairs led to an observation room, and while Chris had not seen any cameras while he had been below, the wall was littered with monitors displaying footage from all over the tunnels. Wesker was watching the whole time. He idly wondered how many times he might have passed the staircase, and if his missing them had ever frustrated the blond man. He hoped it had.

And in the middle of the room was Wesker, half of him facing the monitors and half of him facing Chris. He pocketed the small black flip phone, then turned to regard the haggard man.

"Certainly took your time, didn't you, Christopher? I see we've taken to eavesdropping now."

The BSAA agent gestured to the monitors behind the blond. "You knew I was coming, you could have dropped the call."

The fact was that Wesker didn't care if Chris heard his conversation and they both knew it. He was 100% sure that Chris would never be able to get into a situation where he could put that information into use, and even if he could get away, that he would even be able to do it. His confidence made the BSAA agent's blood boil, but it was true all the same. Chris had no way of using the information he just heard. It was a tiny victory, and the virus knew it. It had been a small gesture of good faith.

At least he wouldn't be wasting his question now.

"Very good. You're catching on."

"I made it here conscious, Wesker. Time to make good on your deal. I passed your test, now you answer one question."

"Very well. Ask away."

"Why me?"

Wesker raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought you'd go for 'how do I save Jill' or 'where is the self-destruct button for this compound'."

"Feel free to tell me any of those things, too."

"That's a rather selfish question you're asking," Wesker said as he took one step forward. "I'm so proud."

What question he would ask had been something Chris had been considering since the moment Wesker mentioned that he would give him a prize for completing the man's tests. Meet his expectations and get one question answered. So he chose his question carefully. The BSAA was in Africa, that much was evident by Wesker's phone call, as well as the fact that the blond had something planned for them. But Chris had trained with, and in a lot of cases actually _trained_ the men and women of the BSAA. He trusted in their ability to handle whatever shit Wesker threw their way, so no, he wouldn't waste his question on their status. He believed in them. Even if he knew exactly what was about to befall them, the information would do him no good - he couldn't do anything with it from here. As for Jill, she was either being forced against her will to betray the BSAA or, as much as it pained Chris to think it, she was willingly working for Wesker. Either way, it would eventually come to the light. The chip had information vital to the BSAA, so he knew why Wesker took it. Asking where it was would be useless - Wesker would just move it and that's if Chris could even reach it anyway.

This question stood to gain the most information, so that was the one he picked.

"Answer the question," Chris pressed.

"First, we're going to go to the kitchen," Wesker said, and held up one hand to silence the agent when he opened his mouth to protest. "Unless you'd rather pass out halfway through the _one time_ I will answer this question?"

At Chris' scowl, Wesker smiled.

"That's what I thought."

* * *

[a/n] I'm super sorry for being super late with this update. A huge thank you to orangepotato for poking me and checking in. :) Thank you all for your constant patience and support, you've all been so kind and inspiring. Thank you!


	11. Men to Die For

Chapter 11: Men to Die For

The South African Branch of the B.S.A.A. was very beautiful, and Piers couldn't help but feel a bit jealous when he compared it to the branch headquarters he and Chris primarily worked out of. Their building - the original building the organization was born out of - was of moderate size and overall, it didn't look very impressive. That wasn't to say it wasn't one hell of a building, because it was. It served its purpose and was basically impregnable. The word 'basically' whispered sadistically through Piers' head as he cringed. That wasn't quite right anymore - Jill Valentine and Albert Wesker had seen to that. Piers shoved the thought away and continued to look through the glass walls of the conference room that hung high above the lobby below. The entire front of the building was glass windows from floor to ceiling - bulletproof and sturdy. The lobby area, towering with its arching ceiling and carved deep into the complex, was the only part of the building that seemed fragile. If any part of the base was insecure, it was here. But take one step in any direction past the lobby and an intruder would find themselves face to face with a complex series of retinal scanners, fingerprint identification pads, card keys, and various other security measures - each door more intricately locked than the last.

Leon whistled from his spot at the conference room window, catching Piers' attention from where the young man sat at the large, glossy table.

"This is the fifth most secure facility I've ever seen," he said as he looked around with an appreciative smile. "Minus the lobby. Glass? Really?"

Josh raised an amused eyebrow at him from his seat across the table. "Fifth?"

"What? I've been a lot of places."

"I don't doubt it," Josh said with a wry smirk. "I hear you Americans like to get around."

Leon shrugged and returned the man a smirk of his own in the reflection of the window. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Stone."

Josh let out a booming laugh and his men chuckled lightly with him. Piers didn't.

The soft staccato of the young man's fingertips upon the tabletop of the conference room was ridiculously deafening in Leon's opinion. Try as he may, he could not ignore the steady canter of it as the young B.O.W. beat an anxious rhythm into room, interrupting the warm laughter with his uneasiness. Josh looked over at the flurry of fingers and gave Piers an apologetic look.

"I apologize again for the wait. Branch Commander Alomar was unexpectedly tied up with another matter. She'll be here shortly."

Suddenly torn from his brooding thoughts, Piers had the good grace to look slightly ashamed as he forcefully stilled his hand and let it slide silently into his lap. Leon smoothed the situation over easily.

"She's a busy woman, Josh. It's to be expected."

"I know, but… Please do not think for a moment that we are not taking this matter seriously." His eyes were directly on Piers as he said this, his face stern. "Chris Redfield is a good man. He's got a lot of enemies, but he's got a lot of friends, too. And a lot of people in his debt, myself included. We'll do everything within our power to help you find him."

Unwilling or unable to say anything in response, the young B.S.A.A. agent just gave the man a small nod of gratitude before looking out into the lobby, eyes keenly searching for any glimpse of Sheva Alomar. It wasn't long before his knee resumed where his fingers had left off and set his chair into a soft, steady squeak as the limb bobbed anxiously.

"Where are we off to after this, Leon?" Josh asked. Leon turned from the window to regard him.

"Not quite sure. Hunnigan is the one pulling our team roster together, so she'll let me know when we're done here. But if she's thinking what I think she's thinking, our next stop is going to be the Eastern Slav Republic. Barring any sudden developments, of course."

Piers frowned.

"Why there?"

"An expert on viral influence lives there. He's got firsthand experience that could really benefit us, if I can convince him to get off of his butt and out of the classroom. It's iffy."

"Why would we need-?"

Before Piers could finish his question, a small device in the middle of the conference room table began to beep and flash, drawing everyone's attention.

"That must be Sheva now," Josh said as he leaned across the table to activate the device. With a small touch of the flashing button, the circular device lit up and a small hologram began to hover just above it, displaying another B.S.A.A. agent's face from the African Branch. From the number of people passing by him in the background and what they were wearing, Piers assumed the man was somewhere in this very facility.

And he looked the way Piers felt. Anxious, out of time, and running low on options.

"Agent Barrow?" Josh asked and looked around as if the man were supposed to be among them. He then directed his question from the hologram to another agent within the room. "Why isn't he up here? He's a part of your squad, isn't he?"

The commanding officer of the squad took a step forward and gave the hologram a harsh frown. "Yes, sir, he's supposed to be up here."

"Co...Commander Stone," the agent said, his teeth rattling audibly. Josh frowned and leaned forward a little more. The agent's face was visibly perspiring, small rivulets running down his jaw line and into the neck of his uniform. He blinked rapidly whenever his sweat found its way into his eyes. "I- I managed to ignore the-aaah," he groaned.

"Agent Barrow, what's going on?"

At the mention of his name, the man in the hologram flinched, his face torn as he bit hard on his cheek. A few passersby were beginning to take notice of him now, some even going so far as to stop to look at him, their concerned hands outstretched. The agent waved them off agitatedly. Piers studied the man's face closely.

"I- I'm so sorry, sir," the man managed to ground out through his teeth as his neck twitched to the side unnaturally again. "I managed to ignore the order to follow you up there, but - nngh - I can't... It hurts."

He lifted one horribly shaking hand up to wipe at his brow. Piers found himself also leaning closer to the hologram as his sharp eyes caught a glimmer of movement in the pained agent's face. He squinted, unsure if he saw what he thought he saw, but sure enough, something small wiggled and glided underneath the skin of the man's face just a second later. The young B.O.W. reared back, eyes wide. No one else noticed.

"What's wrong?" Josh tried again as he rose to a full stand. "Answer me, Barrow!"

The young man let out a shuttering gasp. "Please, just- seal the door. D-don't come outside."

"What-?"

"Just promise me," the agent said, throat ragged as he jerkily lifted his other hand towards his neck as if his arm were hundreds of pounds heavier than it actually was. And in Agent Barrow's hand, a small, wickedly familiar ball of glittering needles waited patiently for its owner to strike. A few people in the background let out shouts as they recognized the little weapon, hands outstretched as they raced forward. Piers felt the world tip obscenely beneath his feet, his heart shuddering in his chest.

"_Not again_…"

Flashes of memory whispered sadistically into his ear. A steel gate sliding down between him and his squad like a guillotine's blade. Finn's large eyes. The men's bravery as they started searching for a way out. The innocent way the little ball had arced into the room as delicate, feminine fingers tossed it at his companions. The way it shot out hundreds of needles in a second. The melting bodies, hands grasping, lungs screaming as they died. He leapt up from his seat to the window, unaware of the B.S.A.A. agents beside him that ran for a control panel beside the lush conference room door.

In the lobby below, he could see Agent Barrow. There, in the middle of a hundred boiled bodies and running innocents - lab coats flailing, visitors screaming, soldiers taking aim - the African agent lifted his sun darkened hand into the air and pressed a small button. Seeing the needles disperse from just a few feet away had been horrifying. Watching them deploy from high up in an observation room made it feel downright surreal, Piers thought as he watched tiny little slivers of light dart out of the man's palm, some striking nothing, but most of them hitting solid flesh.

Leon slammed his fist against the window, face snarling wordless fragments of rage, but Piers' couldn't hear it. The action, the raw suddenness of it, actually made him flinch. He looked at the government agent with wide eyes, everything moving slowly around him as he turned to see the lights in the conference room begin to flash red and a fine mist of clean air spurt out of the creases of the door. They were sealing the room.

A hand on his shoulder shook him for just a second before a yelp pierced his ears and brought all the sound in the area rushing back through his head in a wave. He had shocked Leon.

The man in question was gently holding his hand, eying him cautiously as he spoke to him like a spooked horse. Piers noted that the man did not try to touch him again. "Piers, you need to snap out of it!"

"I-" He returned his gaze back down to the floor below. Bodies writhed in agony, flesh burning and melting into sloppy piles as the resultant goop trapped its victims within. Finn's smile was seared into the backs of his eyes. His options were to watch these people die or be reminded of his face if he tried to hide behind his eyelids. Both burned to look at.

"Piers!" Something was shoved into his chest. He tore his gaze away to see Leon wrap his dazed hands forcefully around a gasmask. "Put this on!"

He watched as Leon put on his own mask before Piers numbly followed the agent's movements and put on his as well. The mask was heavy and smothering. He immediately desired to remove it, but Leon grabbed his wrist before he could.

"I don't care what sort of B.O.W. you are, you are not removing this mask. Understood?" the older man growled, and then he was gone - hand pulling out the magnum from his thigh holster as he addressed the rest of the room. "Does everyone have a mask on?"

"Yes, we're ready to go," Josh responded as he motioned for one of his squad members to send in a report over the radio. With another quick flick of his wrist, he motioned for the agents by the window to wait, and then he looked at Leon. "You sure about this?"

"We're kind of running short on options, if you haven't noticed," Leon said as he took two large steps to the window - gun raised - and pulled the trigger. But the glass was bullet proof, trapping the shot in a neat network of spider-web cracks. "Alright, kid. Show time," he said and pointed to the cracks, "Show us what you've got, Sparks."

Piers blinked at him, caught between _what the hell did you just call me _and _you don't understand, it's happening again_. These thoughts marched a wave of terror and numbness through his mind until what Leon said finally bled through the icy terror of Edonia. He had been given an order.

Orders were to be obeyed.

"Right," Piers said, collecting himself as he stepped forward. "Everyone get ready."

And this, for as much as he hated to admit it - this he knew how to do. Fist clenched, the young B.O.W. opened the flood gates of every negative trigger emotion that he had been bottling since the B.S.A.A. had been betrayed by Jill on that rooftop. Since that gelatinous creature had dared to clench its substance-less fingers around the Captain back under the sea. Since Edonia. Since Finn.

He could see the writhing masses below as lightning and electricity began to leap into a steady dance around his arm. At the core of the infected horde, he could see what remained of Agent Barrow. He was screaming the loudest, skin sopping off of him in large, squishy pieces as huge protruding lumps began to form all over his body.

Piers had died so that this wouldn't happen; infected himself to protect the world from this very thing. And now, arm raised and voice howling bitterly through his torn up throat, Piers released several B.S.A.A. building sections worth of electricity from the facility into a clean, narrow arc at the glass. It shattered immediately, the heat of the attack even going so far as to melt large sections of it and sent molten droplets to fall on the creatures below. It gored several of them.

When the power surge in his body finally ceased, it felt like the recoil of a gun much larger than he had ever handled - sending him scuttling back several steps to regain his balance. Although he could not see the carnage he had unleashed right away, he did see the explosive flash across his eyelids and heard the screams of several of the creatures below - mindlessly panicked and a great many fatally wounded. Panting, Piers opened his eyes to see Josh and the others rush forward, guns at the ready as they began to snipe the infected from above. It felt like centuries since he had been a part of a team, and now - standing behind these loyal B.S.A.A. men as they worked with him and did not fear his abilities - he felt a sense of freedom that had been stripped from him the moment he had willingly entered quarantine after surviving China.

"Nice work, Piers!" Leon howled over the gun fire, his voice distorted by his gasmask. "Josh, you and your men stay up here and cover us."

"You can't seriously plan to go down there," Josh said, looking up a moment to focus on the American agent.

Leon moved to stand beside him and pointed at the creature that Barrow had become - all sagging, pussy skin and large, deformed sacs oozing out a steady stream of toxic gas onto the innocents around it. "You see that thing? If we don't get down there and kill it before it gets out of the lobby, you won't just have a small sector breach on your hands. You'll have a full on infection that'll spread across Africa faster than the B.S.A.A. can cope with it."

"How do you know that?"

"What the hell do you think happened to China? The gas from that bomb was likely harvested from that very creature," he said, then grabbed Josh's forearm. "I need you to trust me. I've handled this thing before. Twice."

With a determined grimace, Josh quickly reloaded his gun and said, "If you think you're going down there alone to protect _my _country, you're mistaken, friend."

Leon grinned. "Then you better keep up."

"Carver, keep the men here and cover us," Josh ordered one of his men, "We're going down. Keep trying to get in contact with Sheva. Let me know when you've got her on the line, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Carver bellowed between spurts of gunfire, and Piers could hear the agonized moan of another felled creature from below.

"I'm going to blow the airlock," Leon said, "Everyone secure your masks!"

"Clear!"

The gunshot that followed was as derisive as it was final, Piers thought as the bullet pierced the airlock and created a large blossom of hissing cracks in the glass. Another bullet, then another - but still the glass held strong.

"Sparks," Leon said, drawing Piers' attention. "How about an encore?"

Piers snorted and took a step forward.

"That name better not become permanent," he growled.

Calling up the lighting was harder this time since his previous shot had absorbed a lot of the energy nearby. He had to draw from himself and his willpower to accumulate a shot with enough oomph to do the job, but with one well placed arc of electricity, the glass came falling down in a cascade of jagged edges and shattered pieces. A hand clapped him on the soldier and gave him a comradely shake. Static curled around the owner's fingers, but Josh ignored it.

"Quite an arm you've got there," Josh said. "Glad you're on our side. Now let's move!"

As the three men stormed out of the room, gas welling up at their ankles, Piers felt a sense of acceptance fill him. Although he had sensed some hesitation in Josh's words, his willingness to trust Piers was still there. Maybe because Piers was one of Chris' or maybe because Leon was personally vouching for him - but actually being seen as the B.S.A.A. agent he had died as and not the creature that had brought him back to life filled Piers with a breath of life in his lungs he hadn't realized was missing. He stormed after Josh and Leon with a new found vigor, hand outstretched as he casually allowed his body to absorb energy from various pieces of technology along the way. Without the heavy lettered word of monster hanging around his neck like a noose, he followed his commanding officers to the stairwell and down into the fray.

If he was going to be a monster, he'd be a monster for them. He'd be damned if he was going to lose another team. The captain included.

"So you better hang in there, captain," Piers whispered beneath his breath as they tore down the stairs and dove head long into the fight. "I'm going to hold you to your promise."

Gunfire played a fiery concerto for their entrance as the men above covered them - mowing down a line of sharp teeth and needy hands before the creatures could even get close. These men, they were men to die for.

* * *

Mentally exhausted - so no responses to comments this time. I'm going to make a point of answering them individually as they come in from now on, though. Because I do love you all and value your support and feedback. Thank you all so much!


	12. Swallowed Whole

Chapter 12: Swallowed Whole

Leon ran past a seizing victim writhing on the ground only to hear one of the men from the conference room let loose a shot - sparing them the agony of becoming one of the infected. He tried not to linger on it too long. It brought back bad memories of grabbing hands and naïve days.

With a quick hand gesture, he motioned for the two men that had come into the lobby with him to stand their ground. The gas mask he wore made it hard to communicate effectively, but he tried anyway.

"That son-of-a-bitch is called a Lepotitsa. You already know what it does, so don't get close. As long as other survivors are in here, it'll concentrate on infecting them, so we need to put this thing down before it kills off everyone and before it gets a chance to see us coming!" Leon pointed to a far corner. "Josh, give us some cover fire from over there. Don't let it get too close. Piers, you're with me. We're going to get it a nice round of bullets as close as we can manage, understand?"

"On it!" Josh said as he jogged across the lobby, letting out a quick bark of gunfire here or there when greedy hands strayed too close. Bodies littered the lobby, making it hard for Leon to find good enough footing to do much more than a light jog. Anything faster and he found himself stumbling on the blood slick floor and clustered bodies.

"How close can we get?" Piers shouted over the sound of their stamping and the Lepotitsa's yowling. Innocents ran around in a frenzy, hands over their faces. A few soldiers remained, their guns aimed and firing. Leon tried to get their attention, but couldn't. He sighed and turned to look at the young B.O.W.

"Not very close. The gas gets more concentrated the closer you get to the creature, and it's got a pretty big range when it coughs up that shit. The gas masks will let us get closer than we could without them, but I don't think it's wise to risk much closer than this."

Magnum raised, Leon began to fire off precise shots at the creature with Piers hot on his tail. Each impact made the creature shudder, tumorous sacs flailing in outrage and agony. Distantly, he could hear Josh supplying cover fire, aiming at the knees and sending the creature crashing to the ground every time it strayed too close to them.

It wasn't long before their coordinated effort had people shooting at the creature from all sides. Leon and Piers fired at the Lepotitsa's front, Josh at its back, a few surviving soldiers along its sides once they regained their wits and courage, and the men above covered them from the zombies. The creature howled; skin writhing in pulses and ripples as small spurts of noxious gas oozed from its wounds and the porous holes all over its body. Each shot made it curl a little further into the ground, the creature getting smaller and smaller as the onslaught took its toll.

It was a spirit rallying sight to actually have a team to work with for once. Leon was too used to having to handle everything on his own, to count on himself for survival. Here, as various survivors all took up arms to protect one another, the government agent felt hope swell inside him. If they could do it here, maybe - with the right training - they could prepare everyone. If everyone just knew how to take these things down…

With a few more sputters of gunfire, the Lepotitsa convulsed with one last death throe and oozed into a pile of acidic mush on the marble floor. Leon could hear the durable tiles crackling as the creature's remains boiled it away. It smelled horrible.

Silence sat in the lobby with a pregnant pause as the men slowly lowered they weapons, chests heaving and hearts racing. Josh took a big breath of air, then let it all out with a victorious roar that his men quickly echoed. The lobby rang with the song of their triumph, and Leon found the feeling contagious as a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

The Branch Co-Commander quickly crossed the space between him and his men, and gave Piers and Leon a hearty clap on each shoulder.

"Now that, my friends, was victory in tragedy. We lost good friends, but we kept the infection to this room. And that - well, that's something," Josh said with a sad smile.

Leon turned to regard the man, his own smile a sad but understanding thing when he noticed the slow look of horror growing on the other man's face. Behind him, Piers drew his weapons - his eyes hard as he watched the Lepotitsa's body harden on the floor, then begin to mutate and grow. Sick slurps of noise echoed in the large hall as the chrysalis bulged and expanded grotesquely.

"You've got to be shitting me," Josh whispered as he side stepped around Leon and took aim. "Everyone, weapons at the ready!"

The younger soldiers shuddered, arms tense as they hoped straining their muscles would make their hands tremble less. Leon opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but then the chrysalis was cracking, its hard shell splitting upon itself as one lanky, rotted hand reached its glistening fingers into the air.

The soldiers readied to fire, but Leon held up one hand to still them.

"You can't damage it while it's in that cocoon. You'll just waste your ammo."

"Shit!" One of the other men whispered angrily.

Another screech made a few of the men try to duck their ears towards their shoulders. It pierced the air with a sharpness that made Leon feel like his eardrums might start bleeding. The way the sound echoed in the large glass lobby didn't help.

The exposed hand curled its gnarled fingers around one edge of the busted chrysalis while the other mirrored its brother limb on the other side. A bony elbow pushed the creature's torso into view, and Leon was grotesquely reminded of the video he had found with Helena in China.

'Happy Birthday, Ada Wong'.

The creature threw back its head, skin peeled down to the gum line and teeth glittering in the light as it opened its jowls and howled once more. A few of the men flinched violently.

The Lepotitsa, its body far more tumorous and porous than before, then fell out of the cocoon with a sickening slap, juices rushing off of its plastic looking skin in goops.

"Now!"

Gunfire erupted like the sound of marching feet on a battlefield as bullets tore into the creature. Each shot made a plume of gas ooze from its jiggling body, and too late did Leon think to warn the soldiers that had not been in the conference room with them when the attack started - the men who had no gas masks to protect themselves with.

The cloud grew with each shot, and the young soldiers were too preoccupied with shooting to notice the noxious fumes creeping towards their feet. Leon tried to shout to them, and from the corner of his eye he could see it when Piers realized what was happening, too.

"Run!" Piers yelled, but his voice did not carry over the crisp chattering of the guns.

The young B.O.W. then lowered his weapon and tried to charge across the room to warn them - physically, if he had to - but Leon grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him back.

"You go running across the room and you'll get caught up in the crossfire!"

"Someone has to warn them!" Piers yelled.

"It's already too late!" Leon shouted, then turned to Josh and signaled for him to move back. "We gotta move!"

The look on Josh's face was one the agent had seen before. On himself. On Helena. On Chris. But Josh did what he had to. He backed up.

Across the room, the noxious fumes reached the men one by one. The gunfire suddenly ceased as they abruptly began to clutch at their throats or uselessly wave the gas away. One staggered to their knees, then another as the metamorphosis began. Leon waited to see their skin pale, to see their noses and eyes begin to bleed; but it did not happen. Something was wrong. Something was different.

Instead, they spontaneously combusted one at a time like clockwork. Something pained and wounded flashed across Piers' face like a ghost. Josh took a few stuttering steps forward, eyes wide in horror. Leon raised his weapon - grimly aware that the fumes were more potent now. It wasn't making zombies anymore.

It was singlehandedly creating an army of B.O.W.s.

"Josh, tell your men upstairs to get ready," Leon said. It took Josh longer than it should have to acknowledge the request, but the agent only needed to repeat the man's name once to get him moving. In the end, he was a soldier. They'd mourn later.

"Signet Group, when those things get out of their cocoons, release fire. Understood?" Josh said. If his voice broke, no one said anything about it. The pause on the other side of the line was lengthy, but the red laser dots that suddenly began to appear over each cocoon was answer enough.

There was a hard swallow, and then - "We're right behind you, sir."

While the former men slowly burned their bodies away into hardened shells, arms outstretched for help, the Lepotitsa composed itself on the floor. Gas gathered at each bullet hole until the skin oozed back in upon itself and reformed. Once the bullet wounds closed, the creature let loose one last shudder and began to stand. All the while, it made a curious chittering sound that reminded Leon too much of laughter.

But as suddenly as the chittering laughter started, it was drowned out beneath a furious crackling noise. The government agent looked over to his side to see Piers' firearm hanging uselessly at his side and his free hand sputtering sparks like a livewire.

"No more," Piers snarled, eyes trained on the once human hands now clawing their way out of the shells. "No more good men die!"

And just like that, the young B.O.W. had the Lepotitsa's full attention. It quirked its head at him one way, then another as it regarded him with sentient caution. Sentient. It was evolving. Leon wasn't able to shout to Piers in time to stop him.

"Piers, wait-!"

The man was already howling, lunging forward to put his body weight into the blast as he threw his right arm forward to attack. After years of combat, Leon's keen eyes caught it all. As electricity began to spring free from Piers' fingers, the lights in the lobby all exploded and glass rained down in a sheet upon them. Leon lifted his forearm to cover his face. The Lepotitsa braced its feet and _screamed_, its voice cracking windows as the sound carried throughout the gore covered facility. Before the lightning Piers released had barely covered half of the space between them, one of the Napads finished clawing its way to freedom and covered the Lepotitsa with its huge hulking back.

The strike hit the brute with enough force to send its outer shell flying in several directions. It burnt right through the flesh, leaving a deep puncture like gouge of smoldering tissue all the way down to the disfigured line of bone that served as the Napad's spine. Calm settled over the lobby as everyone watched the giant fall to its knees. Leon could feel the impact of the thing's body through the floor and the soles of his boots. And behind it, the Lepotitsa grinned its lipless smile - untouched.

"S-shit," Piers whispered as he took two quivering steps back, knees unsteady beneath him. Leon logged that observation into the back of his mind to consider later as he raised his gun. "What the hell just happened?"

"That bastard's controlling them, that's what just happened," Leon growled. Gun back up at the ready, he didn't bother to glance Josh's way as he asked, "When do you think we're gonna get that back up you keep saying is coming?"

Josh's voice was firm.

"She'll be here."

"Well, she better make it quick!" Leon replied darkly as he started to unload his magnum into the Lepotitsa. "Because I don't have enough ammo for this shit."

The bullets didn't even get close as another Napad moved in to serve as the Lepotitsa's new living shield. The gas creature cackled wetly and leaned forward, letting loose another window crackling scream into the lobby. The boys winced, but didn't falter. From behind him, Leon could sense Piers stumbling towards a bloodied computer screen blinking wearily on the far side of the lobby, a red stream leaking from his nose.

"Josh, don't let anything get past us," Leon shouted over the gunfire as two Strelats and two more Napads began to take shape before them. "We have to cover the kid!"

"Understood," the BSAA Co-Commander said, "Signet, cover Piers."

"Roger."

Leon had never seen a Strelat before, so when the lizard-like creature blossomed from its cocoon only to leap over the Lepotitsa's head seconds later and cover half the lobby one blink soon after, the agent wasn't ready. His gun was still pointed at the gas bag creature when the Strelat raised itself onto its haunches and spread the skin of its neck wide in warning. He could see several sharp somethings begin to take shape in the gums and throat of the creature's mouth. Ooze coated spikes that slowly breached the skin and edged forward with deadly promise. The Strelat reared back to strike.

"Leon, down!"

The agent didn't need any persuading. He was already down to his knees and rolling when a second arc of electricity went spiraling overhead. This one was weaker - no doubt because the only thing still operating for the kid to drain was the computer - but it still did a great job of streaking right down the creature's throat and exploding the surrounding tissue in a messy gore. Leon ducked his face into the crook of his arm as a particularly large splatter of acidic flesh slapped onto the floor beside him.

The men sniping from the conference room howled in victory before continuing to send a sheet of cover fire onto the B.O.W.s below. The government agent lithely rolled himself onto knees that he was convinced didn't pop and turned to regard the young man. Piers gave him a quick little wave to let him know he was still on his feet as he pressed his sleeve to the steady flow of blood oozing from his nose. Despite his will to keep standing - which Leon found very commendable - the young BSAA agent was still three shades lighter than he should have been and shaking.

And now there was nothing left for him to drain.

"Leon!" Josh howled from ahead of him. "Get off your ass and start shooting!"

"Shit!" He snarled under his breath and returned his attention to the fight. The men above were successful in killing one of the other Napad, but the remaining Strelat had climbed the walls. Leon saw it the moment it slithered over the shattered balcony, and suddenly the conference room was alight with gunfire and shouting. Leon said a quick prayer for them, then looked at the two remaining Napads flanking the Lepotitsa on either side.

He thought the Lepotitsa must have figured out that they were immune to the gas since it hadn't dispersed any more since its second coming, but just as quickly as the thought came, it left. The Lepotitsa shuddered, its sacs swaying grossly as gas began to plume out of its body in a steady stream on all sides. It was more the usual, and the government agent was just beginning to wonder if it was more potent or something when he realized what the Lepotitsa was doing.

With a skinless grin, the creatures vanished into the dark, noxious fog as the cloud continued to spread across the lobby. A deadly smokescreen with even deadlier monsters inside. The Lepotitsa and the Napad were already lacking eyes - this was their ball field. And as the gas began to drift across Leon's ankles and rise, he realized they were in some deep shit.

And Josh was already gone, lost to the darkness. Gunfire roared up above, mirrored by what he could only hope was Josh ripping the Napad a new one. The gas lapped at his knees.

"Any suggestions, Sparks?"

"If you can shatter the shell on its back, there's a patch of fat. That's their weak spot," Piers said with a heavy sniff as he tried to clot the blood in his nose. He raised his gun and moved to start forward, but Leon stopped him with a harsh look over his shoulder.

"Stay there. Catch your breath or whatever you do to recharge your batteries. When the smoke clears, shoot whatever isn't human. Understand?"

Piers opened his mouth to protest, but Leon was already gone - swallowed whole by the fog.

* * *

"Sleeper Agents successful. African BSAA Branch in turmoil."

-J

Wesker grinned as he discreetly checked the text message, phone tipped lightly by his hip as he gently typed out his response and then put it away.

"Well done."

-W

He looked back up just as Chris' trim shoulders came to a stop before him. The ex-BSAA agent was standing in the kitchen's doorway, nostrils flared and eyes dilated as he took in the aroma of food. Wesker smirked wryly while the man was distracted and then put one condemning hand upon the man's shoulder to guide him in.

_Time to lodge another nail into the coffin of Christopher's humanity_.

* * *

[a/n] So I tried to keep up with your reviews as soon as I got them for the last chapter, but I think I might've missed some (my memory and attention span is as tiny as a goldfish sometimes, I swear!). For the people I missed - I DO LOVE YOU. SO MUCH. Thank you for all the support and patience you've all given me! I adore you all, and you make writing this so much fun!


	13. Fall of the Brave

Chapter 13 | Fall of the Brave

Thick swathes of grayish blue gas wisped by Leon's eyes; the sound of his breathing horrendously loud in his ears as each inhale and exhale rasped through the mask's filters. It made his skin feel tight and uneasy. A whisper of movement behind him had him twisting, heart pounding despite his stoic expression as he aimed at nothing but vapor. The gas ate everything – all noise, all sight. As soon as it had swallowed the American agent, his senses had been drowned in a thick blanket of nothing. All he could feel was the mist on his skin. All he could see was the gas. All he could hear was himself, caught in the abyss – and something kept passing close by.

"Josh!" Can you hear me?"

Nothing. He took a step forward only to trip on a corpse. He was able to catch himself from falling, but his shoes squeaked sharply in the darkness. The corpse was mostly obscured by the swirling gas, but Leon managed to make out a pale hand with well-manicured fingers. Not Josh, then.

While he looked at the corpse, a figure moved in the mist behind him; displacing the air and making the gas curl with its passing. Leon felt wind on the back of his neck and turned, but the creature had already disappeared with a soft chittering cackle that he just barely managed to catch. The Lepotitsa was stalking him.

"Shit."

The agent fumbled at the pack strapped to his thigh, gun aimed by one hand as he tried to catch a glimpse of the Lepotitsa in the darkness. He blinked his eyes furiously as if to clear them, a natural reaction he could not stop his body from doing despite the fact that he knew nothing short of a fan would clear the fog from his eyes.

The cackling started again, this time from the left. Leon spun around to find the Lepotitsa there, its frame even more grotesque in the smoke that continued to billow softly from its writhing pores. He didn't have much more time than that to avoid the hand that shot out of the gas and grabbed him by the neck. The grip was absolute and bruising, just shy of crushing as it lifted him into the air – his boots a good couple inches from the ground. Lack of air made the blood in his temples throb painfully, causing the mask to feel even more stifling than before. Pale, nimble fingers traces the edge of the mask as the Lepotitsa noticed that the gas mask was not the same as the skin of Leon's throat. The agent pulled his knee closer to his chest, willing himself to remain calm as his frantic fingers finally pulled the item he had been scrambling to retrieve from out of his thigh pack. One of the Lepotitsa's talons had just begun to worm its way beneath the seal of his mask when Leon pulled the metal tag from his incinerary grenade and shoved it into the creature's grinning maw.

The reaction was immediate as the Lepotitsa released Leon to try and pry loose the grenade the man had managed to lodge between its jaws and open throat. It choked, sac seizing as gas burbled in unbalanced streams from its body. As soon as his feet touched the floor, Leon followed the momentum of his fall and turned it into a tucked roll that sent him tumbling away from the Lepotitsa. Once he was far enough away, he kept himself flat to the ground and shielded his head with his forearms.

He felt more than heard the resulting explosion. The gas muffled the furious roar of the flames that exploded through every pore of the Lepotitsa's head, but the shock wave – however small – blew the smoke clear in that area for the briefest moment as pink mist took its place. Leon looked up just in time to see the Lepotitsa writhing, gas sputtering in frantic spurts as its headless body jerked spastically before him. But the agent didn't have much time to enjoy the victory.

No sooner had the Lepotitsa fallen to its knees than a Napad emerged from the cloud of smoke and sent its bludgeon of an arm into Leon's side. The attack sent the American flying through the air, head smacking into the marble floor as his body toppled closer to the edge of the smoke. The blow left him winded and disoriented. He could just barely see the Napad's great, hulking feet beginning to pick up momentum as it charged towards him – the agent's eyes blinking incomprehensively – when Josh appeared from somewhere in the darkness to ram against the creature's side. His body wasn't heavy enough to cause any significant damage, but it did serve to send the Napad off its intended path, past Leon, and off into the clear area of the lobby. The sound of gunfire immediately fell down upon it.

Here at the edge of the cloud, Leon realized that he could hear and see better. Reconnection with his senses bolstered his resolve, and he was already on his hands and knees when Josh – bloodied from his unseen battle in the gas – came to a stop in front of him and helped him up. His muscles felt light and fluttery, on the verge of crapping out, but Leon forced himself to push those sensory inputs to the back of his mind as he turned around to see what happened to his would-be murderer.

Through the thin haze of mist that remained, he was able to make out the thin outline of Piers' frame as lights flashed in the smoke. The hulking shadow of the Napad raised its giant arms above its head in ape-like fury as it roared, but when his arms came crashing down, Piers was already moving. The young B.O.W. skirted his way around the creature while its fists were embedded into the marble floor and began to unload upon its back. The hard shell of its back burst in a steamy explosion from its body just as Josh jerked Leon by the elbow and forcefully turned him around, drawing his attention away from the fight.

"That thing isn't dead!" He howled as he began to unload upon the Lepotitsa. Sometime between when the Napad had attacked him and when he had been watching Piers attack the Napad, the Lepotitsa had once more enveloped itself within a cocoon and began to heal during the momentary distraction. Now its lithe frame was wiggling free from its gel filled casing again, its skin glittering in the haze as it slopped onto the floor. Josh's bullets did nothing as the thing's body just continued to absorb shot after shot, body shuddering all the while. When the African agent's gun ran empty with a hollow clack, the Lepotitsa began to find its way onto its feet with a lipless grin.

The creature had changed again, Leon realized. Two large slits were now present just a bit higher than the bridge of where its nose should be – the Lepotitsa sensed the change too, because no sooner had the agent noticed it than those two slits flew open to expose bright, icy white eyes and endlessly large pupils staring back at them. The creature could see.

It let out a howl of pure energy – too confused between the new sensory images and the bright environment to understand what it was seeing. The creature blinked rapidly, body flailing, and Leon took a step forward to take aim and advantage of the situation. But as soon as his gun was raised, the Lepotitsa whirled on him with a frightening madness in its eyes, its body shuddering furiously as it reared its spin back. The pours in its body quivered and that was all the warning the men got before each and every bullet it had absorbed came ricocheting out of its body in a flurry of metal shrapnel.

Leon swung one arm out and managed to grab Josh's neck in his elbow as he threw them both to the ground for cover. The reaction was still slow, however, and he heard the other man's groan as a bullet jammed itself into Josh's Kevlar vest. Another bullet managed to graze Leon's right bicep, and the man had just enough time to hope that there was no infective gunk on the bullet before the barrage of metal stopped and two strong, spindly hands grabbed him by the ankles.

The motion was abrupt, causing him to lose his grip on his gun as he was suddenly dragged away from his partner and pulled into the air upside down. Blood rushed to his head – the feeling worsened by his earlier head injury – and for a moment all Leon could see was white. His eyes rolled back into his head as pressure grew at the back of his skull when the sound of gunfire suddenly erupted again. Bullets pierced the creature's lanky arm, causing it to drop the American agent as it howled at its attacker. Leon had just managed to roll onto his elbows and knees when Josh began to pull at the collar of his shirt and drag him away. He caught snippets of Piers shooting at the creature, and then he was being rolled onto his front as fingers brushed his hair from the gash at the back of his head, and the familiar feel of medical spray began to force split skin closed. He hadn't realized the Napad's attack had left such a damaging mark in its wake, and Leon groaned gratefully to his partner as Josh healed him.

When the wound finished closing, the other man quickly lifted him to his feet by his elbows and pushed his discarded gun into his hands.

"We gotta help the kid!" Josh shouted as he pointed his disoriented partner's attention to Piers. The American BSAA soldier still looked shaky after having released so much energy, but even so he held his gun pretty damn steady as he unloaded clip after clip into the Lepotitsa. The attack would only fuel the creature for another round of return fire, but for now it served to distract and pin the creature in a corner.

"We need a bigger gun," Leon said. "What do you have?"

"The armory is several floors away, we won't be able to get there without risking that thing getting to more civilians. We have to work with what we have."

"Which is nothing."

Not a second later, the hollow sound of Piers' gun running empty echoed in the hall. It grabbed both of the agents' attention, making them look just as Piers started to back away from the shuddering frame of the Lepotitsa.

"Guys," Piers called as his footsteps started to get faster and he began to run for cover, "Duck!"

And then the creature lunged forward, pours spouting back every shot it had taken. The marble broke into fragments of dust at their feet as the men ran as far as they could. Leon heard Piers shout as a little bit of shattered marble tore through his calf just before he could roll behind the lobby desk. Wood splintered angrily behind him just as he got clear – the kid had been that close to becoming Swiss cheese.

Leon grabbed Josh's elbow and led him to the side to quickly grab cover around the corner of the lobby wall where the staircase started. Dust exploded mere seconds after they reached it. From his vantage point, he could see Piers discard his useless gun to address his wound and pull out the chunk of embedded floor. His face was a twisted grimace, but the wound sluggishly began to heal as soon as the debris was free. Leon pushed the unnerving cold feeling in his guts back and reminded himself that this was the kid who had already saved him twice.

Seconds trailed onto a minute, and finally the Lepotitsa's attack came to an end with a devious little chortling sound. Leon scowled and peeked around the corner just in time to see the creature lean forward in an intimidating posture, arms spread, eyes wide, and teeth bared as it mocked them with its victory and power. Josh was reloading beside him and Piers had his head leaning back against the cover of the desk he was hiding behind – trying to catch his breath – when the Lepotitsa suddenly leapt onto the wall like the Strelats did just moments earlier. A few gunners from the balcony began to release fire – not as many as there had been before the Stretlat scampered up there, Leon thought grimly – before a voice from above called off the attack.

"Cease fire! Were none of you dumbasses watching? It'll just use our ammo against the Co-Commander! Cease fire, damn it!"

Leon let out a grateful breath for the unknown soldier's cunning as the gunfire sputtered to an end. The Lepotitsa howled at the balcony from its place on the wall before taking the down time to look around the lobby for the first time. Its gaze settled on Leon before he could duck back behind the wall, then upon the desk where it could smell an open wound slowly healing. It chittered curiously, making Leon's guts clench as he loaded up his last clip of ammo before he leaned back out of cover to sneak another peek.

The Lepotitsa wasn't looking back at him this time. Its face had an expression that Leon could only describe as wonder, if the creature still had the musculature or facial tissue to express such an emotion, as it looked at the world beyond the lobby windows with awed eyes.

"Shit! It's going for the windows!" Leon shouted as he twisted out of cover and began to release fire again – anything to distract it and keep it inside – but it was too late. The Lepotitsa scrambled forward with a flurry of long limbs that moved faster than such a bulbous body had any right to move with. It scuttled along the wall, tactfully evading shot after shot as it leapt back down to the floor and barreled through the glass with all of its weight. The window shattered into a network of spider cracks and broken shards that fell to the floor in a musical little tinkle.

"No! We can't let it reach the city!" Josh howled. But each thundering footstep they took felt like wading through water as they watched the deformed creature duck beneath the broken glass and take its first step outside. The effect was instantaneous, and no sooner had the creature stepped into fresh air than it released a large plume of thick, noxious gas into its surroundings. Leon could see the way the wind pulled at it, shifting it out further into the air and up into the sky. The cloud was too small to do any immediate damage, but if the creature pulled a stunt like it had in the lobby, a large cloud could potentially infect everyone in the immediate surroundings of the base.

"No!"

Leon quickly ran past the lobby desk just as Piers gathered up the strength to vault himself over the desk's tabletop and start running.

"Sheva, do you read?" Josh shouted into his comm. system as he ran, his breath ragged. "The creature is outside and capable of infection on a mass scale. Sheva? Sheva! _Damn it!_"

"We don't have enough time for that, Josh," Leon said, "We need to do something _now_."

They came to a halt at the shattered window, glass crackling angrily beneath their feet as they took in the sight before them. Reinforcements had come. Hope flickered through the American agent's chest as he looked at row after row of BSAA soldiers as they came barreling into the courtyard, guns aimed and ready.

And maskless.

Something heavy and cold dropped inside his stomach. He fisted Josh's uniform at the shoulder, eyes wide and skin clammy.

"Tell them to back off! They don't have masks!"

"What?" And then Josh did something costly; he took a precious second to look for himself. His eyes widened and he quickly put a few fingers to the comm. link in his ear just as the firing squad ahead released fire.

Bullets reigned down upon the Lepotitsa in mass, shot after shot making the creature's flesh dance beneath the barrage. Leon, Josh, and Piers had mere seconds to realize what was happening before some of the shots breezed past the irate creature and towards them. They rolled to the ground, glass biting into their skin, and kept their bodies as flat to the ground as possible as the firing squad attacked. Marble splintered and shattered all around them, kicking up dust and resulting in large pockmarks in the floor. Leon could barely hold back a yelp of pain when a bullet grazed his hip, but the wound was superficial at best – he could heal it later.

When the squad finished, it was too late. Leon raised his head – face pale with dust – as the leader of the squad raised a hand to signal they hold fire. A white, chalky cloud had enveloped the creature, but Leon already knew what was happening within. Even now, the gaseous monster would be cocooning itself in its own slime and blood, hardening its body and perfecting itself for the next round. There had been too many bullets for it to just absorb. The hailstorm of metal had to have left it in tatters. The cocoon was a worse result than having to suffer another round of return fire from the creature's bulky form.

Leon rolled to his feet and ignored the shock of pain in his hip as he shouted. "Retreat! It infects through gas!"

Through the haze, he could see the chrysalis clearer, as well as the tense men and women beyond it. The soldiers didn't move. He could see the head soldier looking at him, eyes squinting to perceive him through all the dust.

"Agent Kennedy! Agent Stone!" The soldier yelled. "I think we've felled it. It's clear!"

"No!" Josh yelled. "It's about to get worse! Run! Get help! Get masks!"

But the man didn't listen, his attention diverted as the cocoon burbled and cracked between them. Leon waited to see what the difference would be this time and raised his gun.

"If that fucker has wings, _I swear—_"

Red dot after red dot appeared upon the cocoon as the squad from the balcony emerged from the lobby to stand beside them. They were fewer in number, Leon noted, but at least some survived the close encounter with the Strelat that had managed to slip past them. Josh looked to his side to see the leader of the squad and grimly grasped the man at the shoulder in appreciation, then returned his attention to the cocoon.

The seam that split across the hard case of the chrysalis suddenly widened, but instead of a glossy hand, a large plume of gas slipped out of the casing with a pregnant swell and swirled out into the air. The cloud was dense and growing, whirls of it twisting innocently toward the unprotected men and the unaware city behind them.

"Run!" Josh yelled, throat ragged, but it was too late. Two spindly limbs twisted out from the cocoon – longer and stronger looking than before – and the soldiers diverted their attention from the gas to releasing another round of fire upon the creature. As the gas grew, the Lepotitsa disappeared within it, and suddenly Leon could not see the soldiers on the other side of the gas at all. He could only hear them.

The firing dwindled down slowly at first as the soldiers closest to the smog hacked and ceased firing. Then another row ceased firing and began to cough, followed by another; the sound of it wet and painful. The soldiers began to panic – their cries of horror loud and piercing in the otherwise quiet courtyard as one by one, they combusted from within. Leon could see muted flashes of light in the noxious fog before them, like stars birthing into existence only to disappear just as quickly. Tiny supernovas that winked out one after another, just like that. Fire roared, brave men screamed, and cocoons began to form.

And then a worse sound followed. Silence.

"Do you think they're all B.O.W.s?" Josh whispered, his tone numb. He was going into emotional shock – Leon saw the moment when the man he had known suddenly disappeared within the flesh of a BSAA soldier. His hip began to ache fiercely.

"Let's hope that's all they are." The thought that they might all become like the Lepotitsa or worse made a cool bead of sweat drop down his spine with a shudder.

Chittering began to filter through the cloud – soft at first and then growing in volume as the Lepotitsa stepped forward before them, one pale foot and then the other, its skinless grin triumphant as it gazed at them with its big eyes.

It had changed; the arms and legs were longer. It was easily taller than any man still standing, and the muscle corded along each limb was more streamlined and powerful looking. It looked less like a radiation experiment gone wrong and more human-esque. Well it had not managed to grow lips yet, but the skin of its face was rounded and more healthy looking, reminding Leon of those Discovery Channel shows that built clay faces from skulls and bones layer by layer. A fine sprinkling of hair had cropped up at its head. The pours of its body were smaller now, though the gas they excreted was denser and darker, and just as deadly. It was slowly becoming a more efficient predator. In the beginning it did not have eyes, so it grew them. The bullets tore it apart, so it learned to use them. The humans fired upon it, but not each other, so it became more like them. God save them if it learned to speak.

Leon instinctively knew that if it had the opportunity to delve into its cocoon once more, there would be no stopping it. It would be able to pass as normal, escape, and slip into the crowd of the city with everyone none the wiser.

"Where the hell is Sheva?!" Leon growled, for once letting his temper feed his actions as he glared at Josh. The man had the good sense to look shamed. Their base had been infiltrated, their leader was MIA, and his men had not been ready for the attack or how to handle it. It was a human mistake that had cost them exactly that – their humanity.

Josh opened his mouth to speak just as a chorus of splitting cocoons and wet shrieks clawed through the air. The B.O.W.s were hatching, Leon was down to his last clip, Piers was out of energy and ammo, Josh was empty as well, their reinforcements were defeated, and all hope was lost.

A man from Josh's team grimly passed each of them a clip – despite the fact they knew they could not use it – and each man prepared to die fighting.

* * *

I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON, OH MY GOD - THIS CHAPTER. Sorry! Also, this fanfic is way longer than I thought it would be, we're not even halfway through the plot I intend to take you through. Crazy! XD Hopefully you guys don't mind sticking with me for a few dozen more chapters.

Emil Lime - Yep, the Lepotitsa just keeps getting smarter! (I wish Capcom would just hire me, but I think my heart would explode from happiness if that ever happened, lol) And poor Chris - he's definitely not in good psychological state. I've always pictured Wesker to be far more efficient than he is depicted in the games - so he is getting away with quite a lot, isn't he? Devious bastard. I'm really glad you're still enjoying everything so far!

Chibi-Onee-chan - Thank you! -hug- I'm so glad you're enjoying it! 3

Ecchy - I'm really glad you like the action! I'm always worried that I write long-winded or slow action, so it's relieving to hear that you find it suspenseful! And I'm honored to hear you think the characterization is good! I try my best to keep their reactions and actions correlated with their personalities from the game, so I'm glad to hear you think they're spot on. :D Thank you so much, your review made my day!

- I know, I feel like a horrible person! Poor Chris! I adore him. Actually, this is a story I had developed back after RE5, but never wrote. And then RE6 happened and I told my friend about my story and theories, and she really pushed for me to start writing! So I'm really honored and happy to hear that so many people are enjoying it. Thanks for your review!

orangepotato - ORANGEPOTATO! I always look forward to your reviews! :D I'm glad my chapter gave you a boost of energy! I had a lot of fun writing in Leon's perspective. I originally only intended to write in Piers' and Chris' perspectives, but I felt that Leon had a lot to offer in this section of the story. I really enjoying writing out his reactions and how he would lead/coordinate their efforts - so I'm glad you enjoyed reading it! I definitely enjoyed writing it! And yeah, poor Chris - I'm really beating on him hard. Though the boys in Africa don't have it much easier. Wesker's plans seem to be very well developed this go around. We're not even halfway through yet, so get ready! I hope to keep hearing feedback from you! Enjoy!

bloody raptor - I did indeed get it from Cole McGrath! I really love the concept of electricity in that game, and it seemed fitting here, particularly since the virus seems to have died down from its mutated state and seems more stable now. And your pokemon reference wins ALL THE AWARDS! -high fives you- But yeah, I'm taking a few pages out of InFamous' books - so be prepared for a few more Cole tricks in the coming chapters. 3 Thanks for the review!

Ultimolu - Yep! Poor boys didn't even know what was gonna hit'em! Poor Chris - things certainly don't look good for any of them, do they?

Wolves-R-Us - Well I'm really, really glad you decided to give it a try and ended up liking it! I'm honored to hear that you're enjoying it and I hope you continue to enjoy it! Thanks so much for reading! -hug-


	14. Hope Rises at Dusk

Chapter 14 | Hope Rises at Dusk

His trip down in the catacombs had left him tired. A small curl of hunger yawned greedily in his belly, but Chris managed to maintain his fragile grasp upon his cognition. That was, he managed it until the wall of delicious aroma from the kitchen slapped him crisply in the face. The effect had been instantaneous. His hunger multiplied tenfold with a painful twist. He put his hand to his stomach out of sheer reflex, his mouth salivating as he waited for the feeling to pass. It left a steady burning feeling in its absence.

Absorbed as he was in his hunger, he didn't even notice it when Wesker gently grabbed him by the shoulder and began to steer him through the doorway he had paused in and further into the kitchen. In fact, he didn't even realize he had been herded into the kitchen at all until Wesker had already guided him into a chair at the table. The realization sent a cool wave of uneasy goose bumps across the flesh of his arms and neck, but the stronger B.O.W. did not stick around to gloat. Instead, he walked over to the crock pot responsible for so thoroughly distracting the younger man. The BSAA agent just scowled and turned his glare upon the standard kitchen item. A thin trail of steam was wafting up from the pinprick sized holes in the lid, releasing the scent responsible for Chris' lapse in attention.

It was such an ordinary item. Claire tried to tell him all the time to invest in one; that it would cook meals for him while he was at work and allow him the pleasure of coming home to a ready-to-eat meal instead of heating up a plastic tray of microwaveable preservatives that he had no doubt would probably be later linked to some form of cancer or another. He had always been too lazy to go to the store and buy one, let alone chop everything up ahead of time that would be needed for any of the recipes she had collected for him. So he never ended up buying one.

The fact that Wesker had one was unsettling. It was such a commonplace item. It reminded him of his sister, which immediately made a small part of him relax, and therein lay the problem. He did not want to feel relaxed or at home in the kitchen of the man who intended to make him a slave. He briefly wondered if Wesker used the offending cooking utensil on purpose.

"As I stated before, the virus did not give you any comic book-esque super powers, Christopher. So stop glaring like you have heat vision," Wesker said simply as he walked over to the cabinet and retrieved two bowls - one smaller than the other.

Chris gave him a scornful look, but a small part of him couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu as he remembered giving Wesker's clone a similar comment. _'Where do you get your material from, comic book villains?!' _He shoved the thought away and watched as Wesker continued to prepare their meal. After retrieving a ladle, the blond poured a very generous portion of stew into the larger bowl, followed by a smaller portion into the smaller bowl. Every move he made was steady, confident, and precise. Nothing spilled. There wasn't even a tiny splash of residue on the clean rims of the bowls as he walked their meal to the table. Chris could see gray vapor twisting into the air from the steam rising off the liquid Wesker set before him, but no sooner had the bowl touched the table than the BSAA agent had his large hands wrapped around its nearly scorching edges and started drinking. He was halfway through consuming the bowl when a bottle of water was placed beside him, condensation dribbling along its sides with the promise of satisfaction.

"You are fortunate to be infected," Wesker mused. "If you had downed that broth as you were before, your throat would be scalded from the inside out, I imagine."

Chris didn't even hear him.

He had gone hungry a number of days in his lifetime. During the gap between his military career and joining STARS, Chris had momentarily gone hungry. Again during his time with the BSAA, the man had known hunger during missions. Some missions outlasted their rations, and he wasn't about to eat if one of his men was hungry. He often ended up giving his rations away. He knew what it felt like to have a hole burning in his stomach, needy and irate within him. He knew the pleasure of finally filling it.

None of that compared to now. In the catacombs, it had not just been hunger searing away at him. It had been a need so raw, a desire so primal, that it would scatter his thoughts if he didn't hold onto them tightly. Now that he was finally eating after hours of darkness, and adrenaline, and exhaustion ‒ it blurred all other worries from his mind in a warm, fluffy haze.

The broth was nothing like he had ever tasted before. The base of it was thick and creamy, the taste sharp and slightly salty ‒ which was nicely complimented by the juicy flavor of the beef and familiar texture of the vegetables and potatoes within. It was the hunger that made it taste so good; the virus working within him to try and make him eat as much as possible now when food was so critical for his growth. When the virus came to its completion, it would no longer need to force such heavy handed impressions on such a normal and honestly bland broth ‒ but for now, it made everything taste as good as breathing felt after a long swim underwater.

Before he finished his first bowl, another was set before him. He didn't know how longer this continued. Minutes were not measured in seconds at this point, but in bowls. But with the emptying of each bowl, he found his thoughts slowly collecting themselves in his mind until his frenzied need to eat slowly died into a dull burning want for more. It was at this point that Chris finally came back to himself. Much like before, it was like a switch had been flipped. The span of time that had passed for Chris had not been minutes, but a blink of the eye. Just like that, he was back ‒ an unknown amount of time lost as he paused his hand halfway from bringing another spoonful to his mouth. He blinked in wonder as he took in the mass of empty bowls around him, then slowly shifted his eyes to see if Wesker was still there.

He was, his eyes sharp as he watched him; his own empty bowl set to the side. Chris hadn't seen him move, not once. It was obvious that Wesker had been responsible for filling the hungry agent's dishes, however, and Chris felt all the broth in his stomach grow cold as he realized just how quickly he had lost himself. The blond watched Chris passively. He did not smirk with victory or look at him with disdain. His expression was merely that of silent companionship and contemplation, and the BSAA agent realized with a shudder that Wesker was considering him. Trying to gauge how far along in the transformation process he was and how much further he had to go. It made Chris furious, but it also scared him.

Wesker did not look disappointed.

"You've regained your faculties, I see. Quicker than last time, too. Good."

Chris set down the bowl.

"I don't see how you consider your virus perfect when I keep blacking out," Chris growled.

"You've barely been infected for more than a few days, Christopher. The transformation process takes time and nourishment. A lot of nourishment. In all honesty, it is extremely likely that you will need more sustenance in this period of your life than you shall ever need to consume in the entire sum of your new life to come. Your blackouts, fatigue, and hunger will fade as you grow closer to completion. Though I'd say you're close now. You did not eat half as much as you did yesterday."

Dread turned the brew in his stomach to ice, but the brunette didn't let that show on his face. Instead, he pushed the bowl away (all the while trying his damnedest to ignore the faint sense of loss that the virus emitted within him at not finishing the bowl), and focused on something he _could _control: the topic of their conversation.

"Time for the answers you owe me."

"Answer. Singular. You'll need to impress me with far more than your work in the catacombs for plural answers," Wesker said with a sniff. Then the blond leaned forward from the feline-like way he had been draping himself across the back of his chair and set his elbows upon the table. He peered at Chris from over his steepled fingers and the rims of his sunglasses, giving the agent a good look at his blaring red irises. Irises that burned like the lava that his clone had rotted away in, and ‒ Chris realized with a sting of surprise ‒ no cat-slit pupils.

Just normal, human eyes; minus the glow. _'I've perfected the virus.'_ Wesker's words echoed hollowly in his head. The brunette tried his best to squash away any surprise from his face, but by the tiniest flicker at the corner of the blond's mouth, he knew he had not succeeded. Chris scowled.

"Why did you pick me?" He asked. "After all these years, I figured you'd rather kill me and be done with it."

Wesker tilted his head slightly, his gaze bored. "You were not chasing _me_, Christopher. You were chasing my shadows. My clones. You were hardly any nuisance to me."

"When I woke up, you said that I was the next step of your plan. That I was something you had to finish," Chris said. His skin felt so tight, now that he was so close to getting his answers. He had to admit, if completing a few exercises got the close-lipped man to spill his guts, the brunette was beginning to consider trying harder in the future. This was far easier than trying to riddle it out for himself.

"You remember," Wesker said, his tone tinged with something akin to satisfaction. Something warm curled ever so slightly in Chris' chest. He hoped it was indigestion. "Yes, you are the next step. You have been for a long time. 17 years, to be exact."

The BSAA agent felt like someone had just poured a sheet of ice down his back and arms. Every hair on his body stood on end as he digested that information. He had been a part of Wesker's plans for 17 years. His brows furrowed momentarily as he broke down the time difference. Whatever had started Wesker's interest in him, it had happened sometime after he had joined STARS in 1996 and before the Arklay Mountains in 1998. He fingered through his memories, trying to pin point exactly when that could have been, but stopped when Wesker's chuckle interrupted him. Chris glared at him. This was amusing the blond far too much. It made something twist angrily inside him ‒ he didn't want the blond to _enjoy _giving up his answers.

"Explain."

Wesker's smile widened then. If Chris had asked him to explain instead of demand it, the B.O.W. could have denied his request. After all, he only got the answer to _one _question. Demanding it was the only safe course of action.

"You've caught on. Good. Then let's begin. Tell me, Christopher," the B.O.W. purred as he leaned forward. "What do you remember of October 13th, 1997?"

* * *

Leon stepped forward as shrieks and the wet sound of splitting cocoons pierced the air. The sun was descending before them. Light streamed through the fog and cast the man into a silhouette, making his form starkly resemble an eclipse. Piers stared at the man's back, momentarily stunned by his unshakable drive. The American agent wasn't even trembling.

"We're the only ones standing between that thing and the rest of Africa. We're the last wall until help can arrive," Leon said as he checked his weapon, then aimed it ahead in the direction of the newly formed B.O.W.s. "I won't ask you to be brave and pretend like you're not going to die. Just make it count."

It was in that moment that Piers officially added another name to the very wrinkled, scratched up, and worn list of people he called 'heroes'. When the young man then took two steps forward to stand beside him, he could have sworn it was his captain standing there for a minute. Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy didn't share a lot of traits. In all honesty, the only things they did share were their love of country, their passion against bioterrorism, their ability to inspire their men, and Claire Redfield. But it was enough.

"We're beside you," Piers said. One by one, the others followed. The grim nod of camaraderie that Josh gave them felt like the final nail in the coffin to Piers. They were going to die.

As the smoke cleared and a dozen plus eyes glittered murderously at them. Heavy feet pounded on the ground, scratchy howls shrieked, and all the while the Lepotitsa watched them with a look in its eye that looked curiously like glee.

If Sheva Alomar hadn't climbed the wall that stood behind the creatures and separated the base from the city at that moment, Piers was sure they would have died there in the bloody dirt of their fallen brothers. But she did arrive. With the flaming African sun at her back, she was a shadow on the horizon ‒ but with the falling of sun, Piers and the others found that their hopes were bolstered. Sheva Alomar had not come alone.

On either side of the African Branch Director, a dozen plus men climbed the wall and took a knee at its top. Once situated, each and every man then reached behind them to retrieve something that soldiers on the other side of the wall were no doubt raising up to them. The long, red barrels that then settled upon their soldiers were quite distinct, and the young American B.O.W. recognized the weapons immediately. RPGs. A lot of them.

"Find cover!" Sheva shouted to them. Between all the noise and the shouting, the B.O.W.s had diverted their attention. Where there murderous eyes had once targeted the few remaining men that had survived the lobby attack, they now turned to shriek rudely at the new arrivals.

Piers had just enough time to see the smug and naïve glare of the Lepotitsa before Leon had him by the shoulder and was leading their men at a sprint to cover. Piers always found it odd at moments like these ‒ how time would slow. His feet felt too heavy, the air too thick. Smoke and smog curled thickly all around them. Leon stopped at the gaping hole in the window to push each and every one of them through first. Piers had barely stumbled through before he realized what the man was doing. He turned back to grab for Leon when the explosions started.

The first set came in a group of three, one impacting right after the other. The resulting shockwaves shattered the remaining glass in the lobby wall, and sent Leon and the last soldier trying to hurry through tumbling into Piers. All of the men were thrown to the ground and sprinkled with glass as the B.O.W.s in the courtyard howled in agony. Then there was a second set that hailed down upon the creatures at Sheva's call. Stone and rock showered down upon the men sprawled across the lobby floor. Piers felt a small stone strike his head and suddenly the world was a brawl of swirling, inverted colors and the dull roar of explosions. At one point, he was aware of a large slab of smoldering meat landing with a loud, sick slap just beside him. He looked at it dazedly. Smoke was curling off of it.

It went on like this for an indefinite amount of time ‒ one explosion after another ‒ and then there was silence. The young man was suddenly keenly aware of the shrill ringing in his ears as hands grabbed his shoulders and turned him over.

"Pi‒ ... ‒iers!" He blinked slowly. A soot smudged face with blue eyes swirled nauseously above him. "Piers!"

"Is he okay?" A female voice shouted from a distance.

"Head injury, but he'll live," Leon called back as he brushed his thumb against a wet spot on the young man's temple. Piers hissed, then settled when the subtle feeling of static eased the pain. As soon as the feeling started, it stopped when Leon pulled his hand back with a confused yelp.

"Are all of the B.O.W.s disposed of?" Someone asked before Leon could ask Piers what had just happened. He could feel the American agent's attention divert from him.

"I don't see how anything could have survived that barrage of RPGs, do you?"

"No, I guess not…"

He recognized the voices to be those of soldiers.

Hot hands held him steady, anchoring him to their conversation. They were on his back and at his shoulders, easing the muscles and seeping good feelings into him very slowly. It felt like a balm, and he felt as sluggish as he ever got whenever he had a chance to sunbathe on the beach.

"He doesn't look too good, though. I'll go look for some spray," the owner of one of the sets of hands said, and then two hands were gone. He bit his lip before he could whimper for the loss. Then there was the sound of thundering feet, and Piers opened his addled eyes just in time to see the masked troops from the wall jogging to them with Sheva at the lead. Josh met her halfway and hugged her tightly.

"Took your time there, Director," Josh said with a breathy laugh of gratitude. "It's damn good to see you."

"We would have come sooner, but we had to double back for the masks. Thankfully we got your message about the gas before we came here without them," she said. Then she looked from Josh to Leon and Piers on the floor.

"Agent Kennedy, Agent Nivans." She smiled tiredly. "Welcome to Africa."

"Quite the welcome party you threw. Next time, a hand shake will do just fine."

She laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

She took a step forward as her men spanned the area around her, guns raised and searching ‒ whether for survivors or more B.O.W.s, he didn't know. Either way, they were looking in all the wrong places.

Up above on the ceiling behind Sheva, a lipless grin seared into him mercilessly. There was no time to shout, no time to think. Before Piers even knew what he was doing, the was a sudden and moderate hum of energy that left the hands at his back and sent him forward. He could hear a small, sleepy whimper come from Leon's direction ‒ the man who had been holding him on the floor ‒ as he barreled the African Director to the ground. Had he done so a second later, she would have been in the exact spot that the Lepotitsa pounced upon. The ground was shattered where its deceptively strong hands had hurled into it in fists into the floor.

When Piers turned around to face the creature, he took in several different observations all at once. Beside him, Sheva was trying to claw her way back to her feet and to a RPG sitting halfway across the room. Around them, various men turned to face the commotion, mouths open into startled shouts as they prepared to face the unexpected threat. Josh was waving towards the men and shouting orders. And behind the Lepotitsa, Leon was unconscious.

He had no weapons except for the knife in his belt, so he pulled it out. Every move he made was from instinct. He ran forward just as the Lepotitsa twirled on its nimble ankles, arms outstretched. One hand clipped the odd angles of his gas mask as he ducked beneath the arm, throwing him momentarily off balance and causing his mask to be pushed into an awkward position on his face. It left his mouth and nose exposed.

Piers regained his balance and rolled a small distance away. The giant gas creature reoriented itself, eyes furious as it glared at him.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Sheva scrambling to set up the RPG. The momentary distraction cost him. When he looked back, the Lepotitsa was already rearing back, small sacs twitching as a huge cloud of gas spurted from it in an abrupt burst. By the time Sheva turned to aim, the cloud had already obscured the Lepotitsa and Leon, and she barely recognized Piers resituating his mask before it engulfed him, too.

But instinct was already driving the young man forward, and the gas had just barely begun to creep into the lobby when he flung himself toward the body heat he felt nearby and plunged his knife deep into it. Something shrieked ‒ the Lepotitsa, Piers noted with merciless satisfaction ‒ and then the gas was coming out in thicker streams. Blood and mucus oozed thickly around the hands that held the knife, and he could feel the creature shuddering in agony through the blade, but still the creature lived. This close to it, Piers could see that he had managed to wedge the knife into the thing's chest ‒ right through the bone that divided the Lepotitsa's ribs. Nimble hands pulled at his shoulders and ripped at his uniform, but Piers couldn't feel it.

He was too absorbed by the wonderful, sharp zinging feeling that kept sparking through the blade and into his hands. Much like when he tackled propelled himself off the floor, it gave him strength. He could feel warmth entering his body in large waves, like the ocean crashing on a beach. The feeling made him feel human again, energy leaking into him and healing the various wounds he had accumulated since stepping foot in Africa. It also made him weak. Because the feeling made him greedy, made him want more ‒ and although a small voice in his head gibbered, he instinctively pressed the blade in deeper and tried to take in more.

He had never heard screaming quite as agonized or terrified as that of the Lepotitsa's in that moment. It scrambled, its knees buckling as its bright eyes rolled. Piers didn't realize how exhausted he was until now. It felt like a long, cold drink after ages of running in 104 degree weather. It felt like finally laying down after a endless mission of running for cover and surviving fire fights. It felt right.

It felt right until it changed. Until the ceaseless tide of electricity became faint wisps of static. Until a dull, thick throbbing pulsed through the knife and into his hands. Until he felt the last, final heart beats of the Lepotitsa struggling within his palms. He knew instinctively how much energy was left, how much the thing needed to pump another beat. It was dying.

The realization burned him, made the knife feel molten hot, and Piers stumbled away with wide eyes just as the Lepotitsa crashed to the ground, its skin pale and withered. Bits of goo and hardened skin had formed on its skin ‒ the beginning of a chrysalis ‒ but he knew it didn't have the energy to complete it. The hum of commandeered energy buzzing beneath his skin confirmed that.

Moments later, the cloud of gas dispersed, the Lepotitsa no longer able to uphold the steady stream. Sheva saw her chance.

"Piers! Grab Leon and get to cover!"

He looked over to see her RPG shouldered, aimed, and ready. He pushed his terror aside and quickly ran around the Lepotitsa to grab Leon and drag him to safety, but not before he saw the absolute horror in the creature's eyes when he drew near.

He had just pulled Leon behind a marble column when an explosion rocked the building. Dust sprinkled down from the ceiling and air whizzed by the column in a stream, sending Leon's bangs into a flurry of movement. In the moments that followed, the silence was a heavy weight upon the room. Piers kept his back to the marble pillar as he waited. Seconds passed and footsteps made their way to the steaming crater that marked the Lepotitsa's passing. He didn't need to look to know that all that would be there was a smear of charred blood and shattered marble.

"It's dead!"

The soldiers hollered, bolstered by their victory. But despite all the energy he had consumed, Piers could not muster up the energy to face them. Instead, he pressed his head back against the marble and kept a firm hold of the unconscious body he was holding up. He could feel Leon's heartbeat, could feel the electricity that fueled each and every beat. His skin burned where he touched the man, eager to be free of him before it was too late. But he didn't. He couldn't.

Instead, he held him tighter; if only to prove that he wasn't as lost to the virus as he suddenly felt.

* * *

[A/N] I'm so sorry, guys. I wanted to get this chapter done tonight, but editing took longer than expected, so I don't have time to respond to reviews in the a/n note like usual (gotta go to bed so I can wake up tomorrow for work). I'll try my best to respond to all reviews from the last chapter and whatever reviews come to this chapter throughout the weekend! I hope you know I love you all and deeply appreciate all of your feedback and support!

I look forward to hearing from you!


	15. October 13th, 1997

Chapter 15: Cracks

October 13th, 1997 meant nothing to him, but the weight of Wesker's question started a throbbing in his temples that made him have to fight back a wince. Blood thrummed beneath his skin, pulsing behind his eyes and making dots appear in his vision. He took a deep breath through his nose.

"We did a lot of stuff in S.T.A.R.S., Wesker. The only thing that stands out anymore is your betrayal."

"I'm flattered," Wesker said. His smirk gave Chris enough energy to glare hatefully at him. "But something else happened during your career in S.T.A.R.S., Christopher. You were always flirting with the edges of Umbrella's influence, even then. You just didn't know it."

Chris resisted the urge to press his fingers against the pressure in his head.

"No. I'd remember. We did emergency response work. We assisted with special cases. Took down the stuff the RPD didn't have the manpower to handle. Nothing… Nothing biological," Chris said. "I'd remember."

"Are you certain?"

It was more than just pressure now, and that fact fell solidly into the bottom of his stomach when he registered Wesker's intensity as he watched him. He was watching him like a person would watch a butterfly emerge from a cocoon – like he was expecting something significant. Chris finally winced. The light was too bright; he could barely keep both eyes open.

And Wesker just stood there, smirking.

He was about to growl a threat at the man about his smug expression when the feeling in his head became more invasive. The pressure wasn't just in his blood. It was in his mind. Something was pushing at the edges of his awareness, moving in on his territory. It was an invasion so intimate he didn't know how to fight it. How was he expected to protect his own mind?

"N-no. Get away, get out," Chris muttered as he placed a hand over his eyes and stumbled out of his chair. The sound of his chair squealing against the linoleum made the pounding thrum that much harder. He may have shouted. He wasn't sure.

_You remember. Let me show you._

"Get out of my head!" He couldn't see anything anymore.

_Oh, but Christopher! You asked for this, remember?_

The resultant laughter made his pulse race with rage, but before he could act on it, someone was shaking him at the shoulder.

"Redfield, get your shit together, man," a familiar voice said. Chris opened his eyes just time to be blinded by the bright stare of a helicopter's spotlight passing by as it flew away. Ahead, the man who undoubtedly shook him was walking towards the only remaining helicopter. He seemed so familiar. Something deep in Chris panged painfully, and he could only stare at the retreating man with narrow eyes as he tried to remember.

The BSAA agent was drawn from his reverie as he noticed the string of men – all handcuffed and monitored by an armed officer – being loaded onto the helicopter. A bunch of young punks all covered in shabby cloths and tattoos. A blossom of familiarity was beginning to bud in Chris' brain when his thoughts were broken by another man that came to a stop beside him with two fingers up to the comm. system in his ear.

"You go on ahead with BRAVO team and ensure that the criminals are safely escorted to the RPD, Vickers. Valentine, Burton, and Redfield will remain behind with me to scour the hotel."

"Wesker," Chris whispered, breath caught beneath the tight knot in his throat as he took in the STARS uniform the man was wearing. He looked around and realized he recognized the woods that outlined this place. He recognized the building and the people. This wasn't the kitchen in whatever secret facility Wesker was keeping him hostage in. This was the abandoned hotel on the outskirts of town with the broken windows and bad rumors. This was a memory. This was the past.

This was 1997.

He turned just in time to see Brad wave his confirmation to them before stepping onto the helicopter and closing the door behind him. Chris couldn't help but lift one hand up and give the other man a small, weak wave. It was Brad. It was ALPHA team. He was back.

"Come on, Redfield. You and I will explore the lower floors. Valentine, Burton – you two take the upper sections. We'll reconvene in the lobby in twenty minutes, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Jill said as she stepped up on Chris' other side. Her hair was still dark – dark like it hadn't been in ages, and shorter than he remembered. She pulled extra ammo from her pack and reloaded her gun. Only when she finished did she notice the intensity of Chris' gaze. She blinked. "What?"

"Uh, it's nothing," Chris moved his mouth to say, but before he could, his body pressed on without him. He saw rather than commanded his hand to rise up and wipe at a bit of blood trickling from the corner of Jill's brow. "You okay?"

Chris felt cold despite the fact that his actual physical body felt comfortable in the cool October night. He wasn't in control. He was just a passenger, like some back seat driver strapped in too tight. It made him panic, the feeling only more surreal since his blood pressure didn't actually rise in reaction to his emotional distress. He struggled within while the world went on without him.

She brushed his hand away with a wry smile. "A knick. It's not going to slow me down."

His body opened its mouth to answer, but a sharp command from Wesker drew their attention. They both looked over to see Barry and the captain staring at them. Barry was giving them a knowing look, but Wesker looked peeved to be kept waiting. His past self jumped a bit before jogging to catch up, Jill beside him. But where his body went, Chris' mind didn't go. His body just walked off without him while Chris' mind stayed behind like a ghost. He looked at his hands to see the familiar black fatigues that Wesker had given him and nearly let out a relieved sigh at the sight of them.

"I believe the lesson there is to give your past space, Christopher," Wesker – the real Wesker – said as he walked up beside him from out of nowhere. "You cannot change it now."

Although it made something within the brunette cringe to admit it, a part of him relaxed knowing that he had a tie to the present with him; something to anchor him down. He glared at the man regardless.

"You could have warned me."

"Even for your track record, this is a little unbelievable, is it not?" The blond said with a smirk and gestured for the other man to follow him.

As the blond walked toward the building, Chris looked up to better inspect what they were walking into. The abandoned hotel was colossal in size; siding and window panes broken and shattered from time and neglect. The wooden front steps let out a memorable, weary groan beneath his feet as he climbed them, and the closer he got to the building, the more he remembered. He had been here before.

"It was a drug bust," Chris said as they walked through the front door. "A bunch of kids had decided to start dealing from this location."

"Correct. The RPD had received intelligence that led them to believe that the dealers were heavily armed and called us in to assist. But as you can see, all we found were a bunch of kids with too much time on their hands. Hardly a mission necessary worthy of our attention."

The interior was as ripped apart as the outside. The walls were pockmarked by time and bullet holes – mostly fresh and used only to frighten the youths that had decided they wanted to try and fight back. No one had actually ended up getting shot, Chris suddenly remembered as he brushed his fingers over some splintered wood in the door frame caused by a well aimed gunshot. The carpet smelled of dust and smoke, and the wallpaper was peeling in places. The lobby was of moderate size, but the huge double staircase, despite how it may have aged, still looked marvelous. The hotel then branched in two directions on two levels. Two halls led to the left, and two halls led to the right. From the left, Chris could hear Barry's low voice talking to Jill. They were far away, that much he knew, but no matter how much he strained his new hearing, he could not make out more than mumbling.

"Your new senses mean nothing here, Christopher. You cannot hear what your past self could not hear. Unfortunately, your memories are limited by the human senses with which you remember them by," Wesker provided. The sudden answer to the very question he had been thinking made him turn to Wesker with narrow eyes. All he received in return was a smirk. "I am delighted to hear that you noticed the absence of your new senses though. You are getting used to them."

Although he tried to scowl as menacingly as he could, Chris couldn't help but feel a twist of fear tighten his guts into a knot. Wesker was right. He hadn't even noticed how often he was beginning to use his senses until he couldn't use them anymore. He rubbed at the bridges of his nose and watched as Wesker peered around the corner that their past selves had disappeared down. The blond then turned from the direction of the voices down the hall and began to ascend the stairs in the middle of the lobby. As he did, the large clock that hung above the receptionist's desk began to twirl faster and faster. Unease curled in Chris' chest. The pressure in his head returned very slightly and he had to swallow down a sudden wave of dizziness.

"What're you doing?" Chris asked as he wiped at his brow with the back of one sleeve.

Wesker was already near the top of the steps as he paused to look down at him.

"This is a memory, Christopher. We've already lived it once, no need to watch it second by second again. I'm…fast forwarding, if you will."

"I'm not a DVD player, Wesker!" Chris growled as the vertigo eased and two forms began to make their way down the hallway again. They were blurry at first, as if moving at twice their normal speed, but just as the blurs came to the lobby, they slowed. Their past selves had returned.

"They're not here yet," Chris' younger self said as he and his captain came to a stop feet shy of the real Chris. It was extremely surreal, and the BSAA agent couldn't stop himself from stepping closer to his past self to evaluate him. It was like looking into a full length mirror into history. He was pretty scrawny back then, he realized with a small pang of shock. Younger and more full of life and naivety.

"Thank you for your astute observation, Christopher," the STARS captain said as he pressed two fingers to the communication link in his ear. "Valentine, Burton. What's your ETA?"

There was the sharp sound of feedback before Jill's voice popped up. "We got sidetracked, captain. We're still on the other side of the hotel. We've found various narcotics and needles. Everything they'd need…"

"What's wrong?"

"It's just a bit odd," Jill said after a small, unsure pause. "All of this stuff looks like it's freshly shipped in. Sealed and capped needles, everything is sterile and organized. Drugs haven't even been touched yet. A bit strange for a bunch of young boys… Like it was placed here just to look the part."

In the past, Chris had been standing behind Wesker. He frowned now as he realized that he could see the man scowl. He looked up to where the real Wesker was leaning on his elbows atop the balcony.

"I didn't see your face before. Why –?"

"I have supplemented your memories with my own, Christopher. It's how a hive-minded collective operates."

"Hive-minded…?"

Before he could get any further with his question, the past Wesker turned on heel and began to ascend the stairs. Chris' past self stayed beside him for a brief moment, and a surreal pang echoed in the BSAA agent's gut as he realized that nothing had really changed. Here, with Wesker still watching over him from above with a knowing look, mouth quirked with wry victory, and himself standing below, confused and trying to keep up. His fists tightened at his sides with an angry squeaking of leather as his younger self quickly peeled up the stairs after his captain, past the spot where the real Wesker stood smirking.

"Captain?"

"We're going to continue on ahead and clear the ballroom, Valentine. Let Burton know, and contact me when you're on your way."

The BSAA agent jogged after then, taking the steps easily two at a time. Wesker waited for him at the top even though their past selves had already slipped into the ballroom without them.

"I don't understand why you're showing me this," Chris said.

The older BOW merely smiled and gestured for Chris to continue after their memories. When he turned to follow, the door to the ballroom was closed. It was an expensive set of double doors, intricately crafted, beautifully carved, and equally rotted. He grabbed the loose and broken door handles and pulled. On the other side of the doors, a grand ballroom sprawled out all around them. The room was easily four stories tall despite the fact that the actual hotel only had two levels of guest rooms. The second, third, and fourth floors all had the middle cut from them so that anyone could look over the balcony and onto the dance floor below. Chris imagined that a large congregation of graceful dancers and billowing skirts would look quite beautiful from above.

Tables were scattered everywhere, covered in thick white tarps to protect them from age. Cob webs floated eerily in a breeze that whistled through one of the shattered windows. A large spiraling staircase connected each floor to the last, and from their position on the bottom most floor, Chris could see their past selves already beginning to climb the stairs to the top.

The two BOWs then began to navigate their way past the dusty tables, protective tarps swirling ominously at their passing as they crossed the ballroom floor and reached the stairs. Chris could hear their younger selves talking a floor above.

"It's weird… The RPD calls us in to take down a heavily armed drug ring that ends up being a bunch of teens with pistols and untouched drugs. Something doesn't feel right about this," his past self said.

"Quite."

The older BOWs continued to climb the steps a floor behind their younger versions. Chris could feel Wesker behind him. Where Chris was watching his steps, Wesker watched him – and Chris knew it. By the time they were at the third floor, a crash sounded from above, followed by a surprised shout he knew to be his own. Chris froze as he heard several windows shatter, followed by the telling crunch of doors being kicked in.

"Christopher, down!"

"Captain!"

There was the sound of a table being flipped followed by the sharp barking of gunfire. But the gunshots quickly came to a stop as several sets of heavy booted footfalls stormed the level above them.

"We have you surrounded," a mysterious voice called through the distinct distortion of a gas mask. Chris quickly climbed the last set of steps and came to a halt at the top to find a horde of men in hulking black uniforms grab their past selves and tear them from their cover. His younger self tried to dislodge his captors, and managed to yank one arm free and strike a man before the butt of a gun was slammed into his temple. The BSAA agent hissed, the pain suddenly fresh for a split second as he watched his younger self stumble. Arms grabbed him from behind and at his sides until finally, no amount of struggling could free him. He kicked out and thrashed once he got his bearings, but he was no match for the three men who held him.

Finally they succeeded in stilling the young man, and with one large hand at the back of his neck, they forced him to watch as the STARS captain was brought to his knees in front of the balcony – a gun at his forehead. It took the hands of three other men to secure the blond's shoulders and sufficiently hold him down. Although it did not look as though the man were struggling, the small jerk of his shoulders told Chris a different story. Despite the captain's calm façade, he was not at ease.

"Captain Albert Wesker," the armed man said with distinct pleasure. "I was afraid you would be too intelligent to come up here alone. Your impatience has cost you, my friend."

The accent was thick, but Chris couldn't quite place it beneath the grainy feedback of the gas mask. The barrel of the gun was pressing into the blond's skin cruelly now, leaving a thin red circle where it pressed too hard.

"Captain!"

"Shut up!"

One of the men struck the captive STARS sharpshooter again, leaving the young man to slouch in their grasping hands as he tried to recollect his wits, eyes blinking furiously. Blood dribbled down pale skin from where the gun had broken skin at the man's brow.

"It's been a while, Scott," the STARS captain said. Despite the gun biting into his skin, his tone remained smooth and unaffected. "Fancy seeing you in America."

"It is quite a surprise, isn't it? But revenge makes us all do unpredictable things," the masked man said. "Unfortunately, I'm here on business, too."

Something in the blond stilled then, and Chris could feel a thick tide of apprehension wash over the edges of his awareness. Wesker's memories bullied in on his mind, making the lights in the room wink in and out for a moment until they cleared and the new memories settled.

_Of course he's here on business; he'd never be cleared to stand on American soil otherwise. They want the virus._

The STARS captain's thoughts bubbled through Chris' ears like they were his own, making his guts clench coldly as he glared at the real Wesker. But the grin he was expecting wasn't there. Instead, he found the blond leaning with the small of his back against one of the tarp covered tables, arms crossed and eyes obscured by his glasses. His attention, however, was obviously on the scene before them.

"Imagine my surprise when I get the order to orchestrate the demise of the man who lost me my job and my American citizenship," Scott said, his shoulders shaking with obvious excitement. "The only string being to make it look like an unfortunate accident. Don't want _Them_ knowing that we got to you. I was afraid that might limit me, at first – but you'd be surprised how violent your American teenagers can be nowadays. Stage some drugs, convince some kids to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, lure you here. I might not get the credit for your murder in the end, but at least I'll be the one who gets to have the fun."

"How do I know you aren't just making this up?" the BSAA agent said suddenly, drawing the other BOW's attention.

"I don't like to be outwitted, Christopher," Wesker said very coldly. "Why would I create a situation in which I am outdone and on my knees if I could make up _anything?_"

His younger self was stirring again now, regaining his feet and slowly straightening in his captor's hands. The men shook him slightly, just to remind him he was overpowered, and Chris felt a wave of confusion and anxiety run through him at the motion.

_They're going to kill him and all I can do is watch. Shit, Jill, where the hell are you?!_

"So how about you tell me where the intel you stole is and I'll allow your people who _haven't _seen us yet to walk out of here alive," Scott said.

The STARS sharpshooter stilled within his captives' hands, his curiosity piqued by the strange man's words. The whisper of _'captain'_ was ready to tumble from the brunette's lips, but he held his tongue lest he draw attention to himself and remind them that he was a witness to be killed. They needed time for Jill and Barry to find them, and Wesker was the only one with the currency to buy it.

But Wesker kept his mouth in a thin, grim line. At the pregnant silence, Scott raised his gun back to whip the butt of it down upon the man's temple. There was a large crack followed by the clatter of the captain's shattered glasses tumbling across the floor. Chris looked from the broken halves and smashed lenses to the bare face of the STARS captain.

Gray eyes gazed at Scott impassively. They were unimpressed eyes, as cold as the gunmetal they resembled. Chris had forgotten that Wesker's eyes had once been that color. Like suffocating smoke or the eye of a hurricane. A force you think you can survive until it's too late and you've overstayed your welcome.

"The longer you wait to tell me, the less likely it is that your remaining friends won't find us," Scott pressed.

Still, Wesker did not move. A thousand questions threatened to boil over and consume him from where his younger self stood – thoughts as thick and deep as an ocean's tide ready to flow over his mind until he lost himself within it. Chris tried to shut his mind as best he could against it and felt a small, flaring warmth come from beside him where the other BOW stood. Something had pleased Wesker, but Chris didn't have much time to think on it before a few stray thoughts oozed through his mental barrier.

_What sensitive intel could STARS possibly have…? _His younger self thought.

"We could start breaking your man's bones, if that will encourage you."

Chris turned to look at himself, just out of curiosity. He found his younger self to have paled just the slightest bit, but his expression had not changed. He looked like a young dog ready to snap if he was given even so much as an inch of leash to work with. It reminded him of Piers, and that thought sent a crack into the walls that had begun to form his new state of mind. The BSAA still existed whether he was in it or not. Were they okay? Were they looking for him? Before he could think any further on the subject, the STARS captain spoke, interrupting his thoughts.

"Break his fingers if that will help you cope. I doubt your superiors will accept your failure any better simply because you made an unrelated man suffer before you realized that I will not give you what you seek," he said. The words made the armed man rear back with unbridled fury, and Chris could tell without needing to see beneath the gas mask that Scott's face was no doubt vividly enraged.

"I _will _get what I want, Wesker," Scott seethed as he dipped the gun barrel beneath Wesker's chin and lifted it to face him.

"You haven't changed, Scott. All bark and no bite. Thank you for reassuring me that my decision to fire you was wise. You're as effective as you are intimidating."

The man yanked off his gas mask and threw it to the side, his hair wild. He took a deep breath through his nose, then another before he slowly let it hiss out through his madly grinning teeth. His face was unremarkable. European ethnicity of some sort, maybe of American citizenship. It was hard to tell. What did stand out clear as day was the long scar that split the man's face diagonally between his eyebrows. It was healed, but still glossy and pink. It wasn't a smooth scar, either. Rough and ragged – like the remnants of a wound inflicted from an animal.

"A pity I don't have more time to _make_ you talk. But there are other ways to get back what Umbrella stole," he snarled as he returned the gun back to where it had been on Wesker's forehead. "And they don't all include you."

The sound of the man's finger descending and pressing upon the trigger was unnaturally loud in the silence, supplemented only by the mute scuffle of the young sharpshooter's boots as Chris struggled against his captors and the sound of two people sneaking up on the scene from behind.

Waves of rage and shame wafted over the BSAA agent in a thick, suffocating cloud, but it took him a long moment to realize that the thoughts were not those of his younger self anxiously trying to break free and save his captain. They were coming from the captain himself. Although his face was clear and unimpressed in the face of his impending murder, his thoughts raged like the hurricane Chris now knew Wesker's fury could be.

_Brought to my knees by this filth. I'll die here because he has enough strength in one finger to pull a mere trigger. How weak. How disgustingly… Human._

And then a gunshot splintered the man's thoughts into a thousand pieces – but the sound was farther away than from the barrel of the gun against Wesker's forehead. Chris tracked the source of the gunshot back to see Jill Valentine standing at the top of the steps behind them, gun raised and eyes furious. The bullet had pierced the forearm of one of the men who held Chris' younger self still; no doubt because the man accidently blocked her intended target while he was trying to subdue the young sharpshooter. His captors reeled, stunned by the sudden gunshot, their grip on the STARS agent loose for just a single moment.

And one moment was all Chris needed to yank free of their hold, barrel across the room, and tackle the gunman into the balcony. The railing gave way with a loud, agonized crunch and the two men pitched out into nothingness with its broken pieces. Four flights later, he heard the awkward sound of their impact.

As fear and panic began to encroach upon his mind, Chris reached for the mental barrier he had begun to construct. He could feel pressure in his mind again as someone else helped reinforce the wall against the barrage of negative emotions flooding from his younger self – Fear. Pain. Weakness. Wesker did, however, allow a sliver of accomplishment to leak through the wall, causing Chris to feel his past self's sense of victory at having protected his captain; just as he would have died for any one of his teammates. The BSAA agent scowled at Wesker weakly in response.

The scene continued on without them, the blanks filled in by Wesker's memory. Bullets fired all around them, but Chris paid them no mind as he walked towards where the STARS captain crouched. The stormy eyes he found there glanced through the hole in the balcony briefly, unaffected and calculating. There was no sense of mourning in the man's face. No grief for the fall of his comrade. But there was, however, one small flicker of emotion – significant enough that Chris could recognize it on the man's otherwise stoic face. The captain was surprised.

But a few seconds were all that the blond could spare before he had to turn his attention to the fight at hand. The captain put his back to the balcony and quickly side stepped his way to the cover of an overturned table before firing at the remaining special operatives Scott had released upon them. Jill and Barry had already managed to take out several of them.

But the barks of gunfire and muted flashes were all muffled sensory images at the back of Chris' mind as he leaned over the balcony to look at what had become of his past self. What he found there didn't make his stomach clench or his skin grow cold. It was far too surreal for his mind to register – the sight of his own body, broken and prone on the floor below. There was a spoke from the crumpled balcony lodged through his abdomen and standing at attention, his right leg bent at an odd angle from the shin. The young man had his eyes scrunched shut, breath struggling in his lungs in short, little gasps that sounded wet to the BSAA agent's ears even from four flights above. Beside him, Scott lay broken. The man had taken the brunt of the fall, his neck very obviously no longer set right between the space where his head and shoulders met. Blood was oozing from the man's nose and mouth, his arms limp and pinned awkwardly beneath him.

"Do you have eyes on Chris?" Jill yelled, her voice tight over the communications line.

"Focus, Valentine," Wesker snapped. "You can't help him if you're dead."

The ensuing conversation fell on deaf ears as gunshot after gunshot tore the abandoned hotel to pieces. Chris stared down at himself from above and shook his head.

"I would remember this."

"It wouldn't be the first time an injury erased your memory, Christopher," Wesker supplied helpfully as he came to stand beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, the BSAA agent caught the flicker of something passing over the blond BOW's face as he stared down upon the past. Something akin to fondness – like thinking back upon a good memory. Chris turned and pointed an angry finger at him.

"But in the end I remembered what I forgot. I would remember this, Wesker!"

Time blurred around them, the gun fight suddenly over and their surroundings littered with corpses. He could see the team below standing around him. Barry was calling in for pick up and immediate medical assistance, his voice strained and angry. Jill was kneeling at his side, her fingers gentle where they pressed at his frail pulse, and Chris, for his part, was unconscious and unmoving. He could see the quick rise and fall of the trembling that had overtaken Jill's shoulders. She was terrified.

"He's not going to make it," Jill said. Chris watched the scene, surprised. This wouldn't be the first time the woman lost a friend in combat, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But in all the times they had stood side by side at another soldier's funeral, he had never seen her tremble.

The STARS captain said nothing from where he stood just feet away, eyes locked upon the prone body of his sharpshooter. There was anger writhing in the blond's bones, the emotion palpable despite his calm façade. Anger, Chris realized with a jolt, that the brunette's demise was not the one that Wesker had anticipated dealing with. STARS Officer Christopher Redfield was supposed to die in the Arklay Mountains; not at the hands of a crazed ex – employee with a vendetta. This wasn't according to the plan. Wesker wasn't in control, and to make matters worse, someone out there knew about his connection with Umbrella and the stolen intel.

The real Wesker placed his hand upon Chris' shoulder, the leather glove squeaking as he flexed his fingers around the muscle, and gently led Chris to turn around. When he did, the hotel was gone, replaced by a small room. The walls were white and bland, the floor sterile and worn down. There was a bed in the middle of the room surrounded by machines and wires, and in its center, the broken form of Chris Redfield. The BSAA agent walked to the bed slowly, his hands curling around the metal barred frame as he took in the grim view.

The man was battered, his skin black and blue. His leg was trussed up in a heavy cast, his ribs were wrapped, his side was bandaged and bleeding, and his neck was held still in a large foam brace. There was a bruise spattered across the bridge of his nose, making his eyes look puffy and beaten even while closed. A large tube was jammed down his throat, as well as others that fed into his veins and attached to small plastic nodes on his chest. The heart monitor sang a quiet, unsteady tune.

"I can stay, if you'd like," Jill said. Her voice startled him, and he turned around to see her standing behind him, the STARS captain beside her. Her voice was even and neutral, but Chris could tell by the paleness of her skin and the tension around her eyes that she wasn't as calm as she let on. The thought of 'why don't I remember this' struck again, plaguing the BSAA agent as he watched Wesker's memories.

"No. It's my responsibility to be here. Return to headquarters. Page me if needed. I'll contact HQ and update you all as soon as possible."

The young woman looked ready to argue, but then Barry entered the room from where he had been lingering in the doorway and put a firm hand on her shoulder. She followed him numbly out to where the rest of the team waited in the hall to leave. Wesker watched them go with cool gray eyes.

"I hadn't expected it," Wesker said from beside Chris, drawing his attention. "I knew how human behavior worked. I had seen units grieve before. But I had never experienced it quite like this. Your loyalty, sacrifice, and dedication had infected everyone around you. You were… contagious. And if the young man from the rooftop is anything to go by, Christopher, you still are."

Chris didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He bit his tongue as he tried to piece together the mental puzzle Wesker had laid at his feet. He took what he knew of the blond – his rage, his controlling tendencies, his ego, and his sociopathic tendencies – and aligned them next to the situation. Wesker had stayed at the hospital, but not because of any sort of kinship he shared with Chris. It was his duty to be there as the captain of STARS, but his duty was also to report to the higher ups immediately after a situation like this. A duty he was forsaking for a man he spared no real pity for. So why was he here?

"Why did you stay?" Chris asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, they watched as the STARS captain walked over to the foot of the bed and began to flip through the broken sharpshooter's charts. Chris gave the other BOW a hard look, then slowly walked to the STARS captain to peer over his shoulder at the charts. The writing he found there was hard to read; the chicken scrawl of doctors running on too little sleep and too much caffeine. But it was still legible enough to determine that the man was suffering from a broken leg, several broken and fractured ribs, internal bleeding that they were able to stem, a head injury and concussion, bruising, a puncture through the abdomen and organ damage that they had been able to stabilize in surgery, a coma, and spinal fractures. Additional notes suggested nerve damage and likely paralysis from the waist down; but confirmation was dependent upon the patient's waking.

There it was in a few short bullet points. He might not ever wake, and if he did, he'd likely never walk again. The ink was so clinical and final upon the paper – heavy words that would condemn him to a bed forever.

Chris shook his head.

"Wesker –"

"As always, you are disobedient, Redfield," the STARS captain suddenly growled as he tossed the clipboard into a nearby chair. He put two hands onto the bed's metal bars just as Chris had mere moments ago and gripped them tight. "I should have known you would not go according to plan when I selected you for this team."

"What plan?" Chris asked.

"I hand selected every member in STARS, Christopher. Each of you had a specific purpose to fulfill for the Arklay experiment. Each of you served as a specific representation of humanity. And then you threw a wrench in my plan as you always do."

"I'm sorry to have thrown myself off of a balcony for you, Wesker," Chris growled beneath his breath, but it only made the blond BOW smile.

"No need to apologize. You're about to make up for it."

"What?"

But then the STARS captain let out a small sigh and straightened, drawing their attention. He brushed his fingers over the breast pocket of his uniform before slowly walking to the door and closing them within. With a small click, he locked it and turned back to regard the helpless man before him. The sound of the lock setting into place echoed hollowly in the silence. Although the STARS captain did not know the BSAA agent was there, Chris couldn't help the sudden bubble of anxiety that formed within his chest.

"What are you doing?"

"Watch, Christopher."

Wesker's past self then pulled back the little flap covering his pocket and procured a small, empty syringe. He held it in both hands and came up beside the brunette's bedside. At the sight of the needle, Chris froze. Shock frosted his skin as he watched the blond man gently roll back one sleeve, grab an alcohol swab from a nearby counter, and gently wipe down the crook of his bare elbow.

"I can't say that I understand your motivations," the blond man muttered, his words short and frustrated. With the flick of one thumb, he uncapped the empty syringe. The clatter the cap made when it fell was loud in the otherwise quiet room, interspersed only by the soft gasp of the brunette's struggling breath and the soft flutter of the heart monitor. "But your sacrifice is more appreciated than you might imagine, Christopher. Humanity owes you a great debt."

Wesker aligned the needle with a dark vein beneath his pale skin and quickly impaled the soft flesh there. When he pulled back on the plunger, dark red blood began to pool up into the syringe, filling it slowly.

"I would have preferred to run a different test upon you when the time came, but I find that this one will benefit us both considering the circumstances," he said as he withdrew the syringe and held it up in the light. Crimson sloshed in the vial before him innocently. He ignored the thin of trail that oozed from the puncture at his elbow and removed the small needle already inserted into Chris' wrist that was injecting him with a steady dose of donor blood. He gently rubbed the puffy injection sight and then moved his attention further up the arm and to the elbow. With another swab, he wiped the man's arm clean.

"I can't imagine a man like you to ever find content in a paralyzed life. However, no one else has yet to survive this particular test. So whether this kills or saves you," Wesker said as he aligned the needle with Chris' vein. "It is still a mercy."

The BSAA agent watched with wide, unbelieving eyes as the blond depressed the plunger and injected the small sample of blood into the other man's veins. It was too simple, too quick. Something so significant and life changing shouldn't be so easy. His past self didn't even struggle. He didn't even know.

As the vial drew empty, the STARS captain removed the needle and used the sheets to stem the blood that emerged from the puncture. Chris waited for something to happen. For his skin to decay or tentacles to protrude from his flesh, but then he remembered that this was the Wesker of another time. Before the infection. Before he became a Tyrant. Before he became whatever he was now.

Back when he was just a man.

Research journals and notes from the Spencer Estate flashed before his eyes. Notes about anti-bodies and superior genes. Dead subjects and brutal methods. Inhuman children.

The STARS captain kept pressure on the puncture mark while he kept his gray eyes on the heart monitor. Seconds passed; minutes. And then something happened. The heart monitor began to show signs of stabilization – the tune becoming steady and even. It was a small, slow change. The brunette didn't suddenly open his eyes, nor did his wounds immediately sow together. But the track marks that began to darken from the injection site were telling. He wasn't the same.

The blond man straightened, a surprised but pleased quirk to his lips.

"Welcome back, Chris."

"What did you do to me?" Chris asked in a soft, bewildered breath. From beside him, the other BOW smirked and watched his past self dispose of the syringe in a biohazard bin.

"I saved your life."

It all clicked together in a rush. On October 13th, 1997, one of them should have died.

* * *

"We're separate,

two ghosts in one mirror, no nearer"

"Say When" | The Fray

[a/n] Whoa, this chapter took FOREVER to write. A lot of things have happened since the last chapter that really made it hard to sit down and actually finish this segment, but ta-da! Chapter 15 has arrived! Yaay! I love you all! I had to write this chapter in piece-meal, so I'm crossing my fingers that nothing went wrong when I put all the pieces together. . -crosses fingers-

Thank you all so much for your constant support and patience. I cannot express how awesome it has been to write this with such awesome readers. You guys make my day! :)


	16. Webs and Strings

Chapter 16: Webs and Strings

"You're lying."

"You really shouldn't ask questions if you aren't prepared to hear the answers. Believe whatever you like, but it won't change what happened," Wesker said, his lips quirked with a smug grin.

The memories had faded now, leaving the two BOWs in the black head space that Chris had become accustomed to when he slept. His other self was nowhere to be seen though, and Chris thanked whatever being was above for that small mercy. He didn't want Wesker to see yet another symptom that pointed to the completion of the BSAA agent's transformation.

Chris pointed an angry finger in the blond's direction.

"Nothing changed! I still bled. I still got concussions and broken bones. I still got hurt! I couldn't have been infected!" Chris said.

"When was the last time you were ill, Christopher? When was the last time an injury actually kept you bed bound for longer than a week when it should have kept you down for a month?" Wesker asked, one hand raised to quell the man's tirade.

"I have arthritis in my knees—"

"—had. Past tense."

"Yes, well, I _had _arthritis in my knees. I got injured. I wasn't superhuman."

"I think you are confusing my antibodies with a virus. It's not the same. My antibodies increased your metabolism to rapidly heal your injuries at a rate beyond average human healing. They enhanced your immune system, which makes sense when you consider how many viruses you have come in direct contact with and have not contracted. My antibodies enhanced your ability to produce muscle mass. My reports suggest that you were able to move a boulder four or five times your size back in Africa, Christopher. You may not wish to believe it, but your system was compatible with the antibodies that Spencer inflicted upon children like myself. If life were a little bit different, you might have been one of us."

The notes Chris found in the Spencer Estate flashed across his mind. So many children had died because of those experiments, leaving only Albert – who later went on to kill Spencer himself – and one other child, Alex. Then there was Jake; he also had the antibodies. But Jake wasn't a monster. They only made him better, Chris hated to admit it; immune to illness and other viruses. They made him heal just the littlest bit faster, react just the littlest bit sooner. They enhanced his body's ability to perform at a level few could keep up with.

This directed Chris' thoughts to himself. When was the last time he had gotten sick? In all the times he had been around various viruses, when had he ever gotten infected? Hell, he had actually been toe to toe with _Uroboros._ When Wesker's clone had turned into a writhing, infected mass and Chris had pinned it down for Sheva to attack, he had felt the parasitic worms clawing at his skin. He hadn't realized it then, but that alone should have infected him. But something had stopped the worms from digging into his body and converting him. Something had him healing faster than most people. Something made him different than everyone else all these years…

When Wesker chuckled, he quickly looked up at him.

"You're catching on. Good," Wesker said, and Chris saw red.

Just like that, the connection between their minds shattered like waves crushing a sand castle. Chris lunged at the blond BOW, fragments of their head space crackling and disappearing all around them to reveal that they were still in the kitchen. Chris grabbed a fist full of leather and threw a punch at the other man's face. The fight wasn't like the last one he had exchanged with Wesker. The speed of his punch wasn't a surprise, nor was it held back. Wind whistled through his knuckles as the punch whizzed past where the man's face should have been.

"Christopher, this is hardly charming," Wesker said as he dislodged himself from the brunette's grip and dodged another blow. While the movement was still made with ease, Chris could see in the man's eyes that he wasn't just dancing circles around him like he used to. He was actually paying attention, which meant that he thought Chris could actually do some damage given the right circumstances. That made the BSAA agent smile very slightly, a glow of satisfaction growing within him. "And you wonder why I don't tell you things."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you infected me, you asshole!"

And for once, Wesker actually turned on him, angry. His eyes flashed vividly, enraged and focused. Chris sent a high kick arcing towards the other BOW's face that he'd never have been able to do so fluidly or quickly in his human body. One kick was followed with another, both of which Wesker dodged. As the BSAA agent followed up the last kick with a punch fueled by the momentum of his failed attacks, Wesker's face changed. The amused quirk to his lips fell and suddenly he was launching forwards – beneath the punch – and had his forearm against Chris' throat as he slammed him into the wall. The brunette struggled, his fingers clawing at the pale forearm and leaving long stripes of bruises that healed just as quickly as they appeared.

Wesker leaned forward and snarled at his face much like Chris had seen dangerous animals do on the Discovery Channel. Pearly teeth were bared before him, and Chris couldn't help but return the favor with his own snarl.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me that you'd prefer to be paralyzed," Wesker growled darkly, each syllable pronounced low and dangerously as he glared into the BSAA agent's defiant eyes. The forearm pressed harder, and suddenly Chris' defiance cracked a bit – distracted by the abrupt feeling of numbness growing at the middle of his spine and slowly oozing downward like spilled paint. The feeling was thick and claustrophobic in its nature; utterly invasive as, one by one, nerves shut down within his body. He tried not to panic. Tried to convince himself it was another test. He took a deep breath through his nose and tried to keep his glare strong, but there was a flicker of fear flashing through his mind that he knew Wesker could sense. Just as he could feel the power and satisfaction rushing through the blond at that very moment. "My antibodies spared you from death, and had you not been compatible, they would have spared you from a life of paralysis. My actions were a mercy. The sooner you realize that not every action I make is one of malicious intent, the sooner you'll come to accept that perhaps I actually do have the best interests of my fellow man in mind!"

That sentence sat heavily between them, interrupted only by the sigh of angry air exiting through their flared nostrils as they glared at one another. Finally, the blond BOW grinned cruelly and tilted his head, appraising the man he had pinned to the wall like he would a struggling insect pinned to a board.

"I could leave you like this," Wesker said. "Like the weak representation of humanity you so desperately wish to be."

Chris felt the last bit of sensation from his lower body leave his toes, and couldn't quite swallow the sharp crack in his breathing before Wesker caught it with a malicious smile. Air whistled in sharp panic through his nose as he tried to glare the blond man down. With no small amount of self control, he schooled his face into a mask of indifference as he mulled over what the blond has said. Wesker had done many things in the BSAA agent's experience. Hid secrets, become furious at the derailing of his plans, enjoyed derailing the plans of the BSAA in turn – but never had Chris seen the man defensive, and never about this. Defensive about the significance of Uroboros, yes, but that had been his clone and it had been about his egocentric ideas. Never about the actual best interests of people; as in liberty and the pursuit of happiness. As in quality of life.

However, the brunette was still unconvinced. He snarled in a quiet whisper, "Don't pretend that you wanted to help me, Wesker. I was just a pawn in your plan that ended up working out."

"I don't understand why you have to be so difficult, Christopher."

"Because you just showed me your memories. I felt your emotions. You weren't grieving for me. You weren't worried. I was just a science experiment to you."

"You were a step in the stairs that led to a better life for billions of people. But in the end, you are not standing here because of my cruelty. I could have left you in that bed."

"Umbrella would have been furious with you for missing the opportunity if you had," Chris sneered.

"Umbrella had nothing to do with that experiment. Had I followed their orders, I would have injected you with the T-Virus to study the effect of reanimation upon flesh in the process of dying. Umbrella had no knowledge of my antibodies."

"What?" Chris lower body hung heavily between them, dead weight held up only by Wesker's forearm and Chris' grasping hands.

"My plan to perfect my antibodies into a cure for humanity has been in the works for years, but it has always been my own initiative, Christopher. Before you, no one else had survived an injection of my blood, and there was nothing to suggest that you would survive. It was a leap of faith, and coincidently, the first ray of hope for the new world." He turned to look at him. "As it is, my plans for you changed that day. Ever since, you were always destined to end up right here."

"This changes nothing, Wesker. If you think this would make me want to help you, you're wrong. I'm never going to stop fighting you. I don't care what you did in 1997. It doesn't change a thing," Chris said coldly.

Wesker leaned back with a slow breath, eyes closing wearily before he slowly opened them and looked at the brunette bluntly.

"You know, Christopher, I'm surprised that you haven't come to this conclusion yourself already, but allow me to make you aware of something; free of charge. Why would I allow you as much freedom as I do if I were not certain that one day soon, your alliance would by mine? I could crush your mind at a moment's notice. But I haven't. So consider what you know about me, and then, perhaps, consider what you know about yourself."

A feeling of numbness completed unrelated to Wesker's control over his body then entered Chris' skin. As he mulled over the growing ball of horror in his chest induced from the blond's words, a cell phone began to ring. Wesker stared Chris down for a moment longer before he used his free hand to reach into his coat and pull out the little device. He answered the call and held it to his ear.

With his new hearing, the brunette was able to hear the conversation despite the lowered audio of the phone.

"It worked. Tomorrow at nine," a familiar voice said dully. Chris' heart stopped, his mind reeling. It was Jill.

"J–Jill?" Chris said hoarsely, but Wesker ignored him.

"Good," he said and hung up. He replaced the phone in his pocket and returned his attention to Chris. "Precisely my point, Christopher. I have other means of getting your loyalty. The fact that I do not believe that I will need said means is telling, wouldn't you agree?"

"Then you _are_ controlling her," Chris said, emboldened by the slip of information. Wesker's face became tight for a second, then smoothed out to a begrudging smile. He let out a little "Hmph" of amused frustration.

"Focus on yourself, captain. Take a moment to digest our conversation and then come find me. After our last exercise, I'm sure you will have no trouble doing that."

And then the forearm was removed from his neck and Chris crumbled to the ground in a loose pile of limbs with a grunt. As Wesker walked away, feeling began to slowly seep back into the BSAA agent's body. Despite his slouched position, the BSAA agent still managed to give the blond a look that promised bloodshed in the near future.

"I mean it, Wesker. I don't care what you say, this doesn't change anything."

"I did not think this alone would persuade you. You would not be loyal if you were capable of being so easily swayed. But it is your loyalty that I seek, and I have nothing to hide. Once you see that, you'll join me freely."

"Never."

"You say that now, but keep in mind that you've already died for me once, Christopher."

And then the blond turned on heel and walked away. Chris snarled, blood boiling as he hefted himself onto his forearms and coaxed his legs beneath himself, but he didn't quite have enough coordination to get to his feet quickly enough to attack Wesker again. By the time he was able to stand, the blond was long gone. No orders to return to his room, no supervision. The BOW was that confident that Chris could do nothing dangerous or harmful to him or his plans.

That realization made the BSAA agent see red. With a few stumbling strides, he grabbed the kitchen table at its corner and flipped it with no more strength than he would need to lift a sheet of paper. The table went tumbling across the room and split on impact with the wall, sending one of the broken table legs rolling away. Plates clattered and crashed, spilling left over broth onto the white linoleum floor in a mess of broken shards and brown liquid. Chris' chest heaved as he tried to calm himself. The table had done little to soothe the red haze in his vision.

He let out a small yell of frustration and covered his face angrily with his hands, aware that Wesker probably had cameras everywhere; that he was probably enjoying his misfortune. But what could he do? He was stuck in a web of uncontrollable circumstances, and worst of all – so far, Wesker had been right every time.

Chris took a deep, ragged breath and leaned his head back to look at the ceiling. His hands slid weakly from his face and he sighed.

"Come on, Redfield," he said softly to himself. "No one can make you believe him but _you. _You're not lost yet…"

But even as he said the words, he didn't immediately pursue his foe. Despite the show of weakness, he waited in the kitchen a moment longer. There, amongst the broken shards of table and spilled food, he enjoyed a brief reprieve from the man who wanted to break him.

Surrounded by silence on all sides, except within.

* * *

Piers was laid back in a fancy leather chair on the plane they had originally arrived in, relishing the feel of its plush cushions beneath his weary body. He was an inch away from exhaustion, he could feel it. His eyes were barely open, and he didn't even see it when someone approached him. It was only when he felt them curling his limp fingers around something buzzing and warm that he found the strength to open his eyes. He looked from the square, high powered battery sitting in his hand to the man standing above him who had put it there: Leon Scott Kennedy.

"What's this?"

Leon took the plush arm chair across from him and sat with the graceless "oomph" of an exhausted man. He almost looked small, slouched deep into the seat as he was.

"A battery. Figured you might need a pick-me-up," Leon said, and then he gave Piers a grim, knowing look. It said 'I know what happened back there' all over his face, and his expression alone was enough to make the BSAA agent feel scolded.

Something heavy and cold settled in his stomach, but he refused to shrink back from taking responsibility. He knew Leon would have questions about what happened back in that lobby. Hell, if their roles had been reversed, Piers was pretty sure he wouldn't be acting as calm about it as Leon was. This really must not be his first "infected partner rodeo", as he had called it.

"Leon, I – "

"I already forwarded a request to Hunnigan to create a new Kevlar vest for you. It's going to have several pockets to keep some extra high powered batteries in, just in case this happens again. Emergency reserves. So long as you are on this mission with me, I expect you to wear it. It'll be waiting for us at the next rendezvous."

Piers could hardly believe what he was hearing. All at once, the fight fled from his body in a relieved rush and he leaned forward a bit to look at the other man better.

"You're not kicking me off the team?"

Leon let out an amused huff, his bangs fluttering with the exhale.

"Kick you off? Hell no, you just single handedly downed a BOW," Leon said. Piers opened his mouth to explain that it was the rocket launcher that had delivered the final blow, but the other man just raised his hand with another knowing look. "I may have been unconscious for it, but we both know how it really went down. I'm not going to tell you that I don't find that new ability of yours a little…intimidating, but I do know that you also saved our asses more than once in there.

You're going to make mistakes. As these mutations settle in your body, they might catch you off guard. But the point is that even though they hit you from left field, you _didn't _eat me. So long as you know your limitations, I'm not worried about you suddenly eating the crew."

Piers rubbed at the back of his neck. He was more than grateful for the trust that Leon was putting in him, but at the same time, most of what Leon was saying sounded like 'I'm keeping you around because your usefulness outweighs the risks'. A small, bitter part of him bristled at the thought. He didn't want to be trusted because he was more useful than he was risky. He wanted to be trusted because of _who _he was, not _what. _Because at heart, he was still human. Some of his disappointment must have shown on his face, because Leon tilted his head at him.

"What's wrong? Swallow the battery the wrong way or something?"

Piers looked at the battery in his hand, then tightened his fingers around it with a grimace. In truth, the little thing _was _helping. Although small, it was revitalizing him enough to stay awake; which only made him bitterer. He was running off batteries now like a machine.

"I just…" He said, but let the sentence taper off as he looked outside the jet window. On the tarmac, he could see Sheva and Josh talking animatedly. Sheva didn't look happy about something. Piers frowned and gestured to the window, glad to redirect the conversation away from himself. "Are they okay?"

Leon leaned forward with a small groan of fatigue, then let out a small 'oh' of understanding when he looked at the two BSAA agents.

"I imagine they're trying to decide which of them is going to stay," Leon said simply and leaned back into his seat.

"Decide which one… They aren't both coming?" Piers asked.

Leon closed his eyes.

"Of course not. They are the two highest ranking officers in this facility. One of them needs to do damage control and ensure the airborne infection didn't make it outside the base walls. The last thing Africa needs is another biohazard. I'm sure the news is already aflame about the fact that a BSAA base was hit so badly. I'm actually more surprised that either of them can come along at all, at this point."

Frustration bubbled beneath the younger man's skin, but he managed to keep himself under control. It was easy for him to tell them to both come – his main concern was his captain and taking down Wesker. But this was their home; as important to them as the USA was to him and Leon. When he thought of it that way, he was surprised that either of them was considering joining their ragtag team at all. His frustration was quickly replaced by gratitude.

Outside of the plane, Piers watched as the two agents' conversation came to an end. Sheva took two quick steps forward and hugged the other man tightly, her face burrowed into his shoulder. The lower ranking officers surrounding them didn't mention the unprofessional show of affection, nor did they look put off. Everyone saw the situation for what it was – dire, and the beginning of the end. After a long moment, one of the officers said something, causing the two to let go and each take a step back. They exchanged a look, and then Sheva was turning around and climbing the stairs into the jet.

Once she was out of sight, Josh rubbed at his closely shaven head and gestured for his men to retreat to a safe distance from the jet. When Sheva appeared in the cabin a short while later, she looked exhausted and shallow. She glanced at the two Americans silently, the pause between them all long and pregnant before she took the seat next to Leon. Once seated, the blond agent grabbed her thin wrist gently and smiled.

"Josh can handle anything anyone throws at him."

"I know I'm leaving the base in good hands, that's not what's worrying me. If you two hadn't been there," she started, then trailed off.

"If we hadn't been there, you and your men still would've figured out a way to take that thing down."

Piers gave her a reassuring nod, unsure of what to do at the sight of one of his role models so unsure of herself. He leaned his elbows forward onto his knees and looked to Leon.

"So, where to next, boss?"

Leon looked at him with an amused and pleased look on his face before pulling out the little cube they had used to communicate with Hunnigan before. He deftly put the cube onto the table situated between their seats and activated it. With two bright flashes of light, a small screen began to hover above the cube. In the screen read the words 'Contacting F.O.S. Agent Ingrid Hunnigan'.

After two bubbly chirps from the device, the screen disappeared and the light redirected itself to Leon's left where the cabin's aisle was. The light then formed into a full-sized projection of a familiar young woman in a classy looking two piece suit: Agent Hunnigan.

Leon let loose the cheesy grin that had taken over his face the last time Hunnigan had appeared, and Piers couldn't help but roll his eyes the littlest bit. Hunnigan didn't look all that impressed with the dopey grin either. She held her data pad a little closer to her chest and assumed a professional and polite expression as she addressed them, back straight.

"Agent Kennedy, Agent Nivans, Branch Commander Alomar; I'm so pleased to see all of you intact. We received word about the bioterrorist attack on your facility. I take it everything is under control?"

From his peripheral, Piers saw Leon narrow his eyes fractionally. Something was wrong, and now that the younger BSAA agent looked a bit closer, he could see it too. Hunnigan was more frazzled than the last time he saw her. Her composure was tighter, more terse.

Sheva leaned forward and answered her question.

"Co-Branch Commander Stone will be remaining behind to ensure that everything at the base is secure, but yes. For the most part, we have brought the situation under control. Thank you for asking."

Leon held up a hand to stop Hunnigan before she could speak.

"Yeah, yeah, everything ended up fine," he said quickly, "But what's going on in your neck of the woods. You're wearing that face you get when shit's hitting the fan and you don't know how to tell us."

Hunnigan sighed, and just like that, her façade disappeared with her exhale.

"The African base was not the only base to be hit by turncoat agents. Numerous factions throughout the world have reported bioterrorist attacks. Most of them have been able to contain the outbreak and neutralize the threat, but only your facility and one other reported to have had BOWs as sophisticated as the one you faced."

"Where's the other faction?" Piers asked.

Hunnigan shook her head.

"That's not the point, nor what we need to worry about right now. The BSAA and National Security have been working together to handle the situation. That's not the problem. The suddenness of these outbreaks coupled with the attack on that facility in Washington, DC and the loss of Captain Redfield and Jill Valentine has led to an unforeseen development," she said.

Leon sat up a little straighter, his charm replaced by seriousness.

"What's going on, Hunnigan?"

"A month ago, a new pharmaceutical company named Westbarl Industries announced the upcoming release of a new drug to counteract against the effects of the C-Virus. Erek Westbarl, the company's founder, has been working with the United Nations and the combined efforts of various international scientists over the past year to create this cure. A press release just an hour ago revealed that they intend to change their schedule and release the drug within the month."

The news was happy, but Ingrid's tone was nothing if not worried. Piers frowned, confused.

"I don't understand, that's a _good _thing," he said.

"Yes, but it's not that simple. Their press release from a month ago when the drug was first announced stated that it would not be ready for release for another six months, minimum. The fact that the United Nations is pushing this forward is all contingent upon the recent bioterrorist attacks. Normally, the FDA would never approve of this sort of development."

"Hunnigan, where are you going with this?" Leon asked.

"It's all a little convenient, don't you think?" Hunnigan said in a rush uncommon of her nature. She was looking at Leon pleadingly.

"No one believes you, do they?" He asked.

"No. No one is willing to back my leads. Everyone is too preoccupied with providing damage control at the affected BSAA facilities and coordinating the gala that they intend to hold tomorrow night to announce the new release date. Important global figure heads and scientists will be attending the function to receive the first dose of the cure. It's a setup, Leon. Someone is pulling the strings to have this gala happen faster for a reason."

Leon looked at her sternly for a long moment, searching for something in Hunnigan that Piers couldn't identify. All around them, the jet began to buzz. The engines began to roar to life – they were beginning to take off.

"We're not going to Europe, are we?"

"No. Not yet, at least. We don't have much time to act on this, Leon. Every organization I have spoken to has blackballed me. No one is willing to investigate this despite the fact that even now, no side effects or any other information has been disclosed about this serum. I need all three of you in American for this gala ASAP," she said, and then added a little more sternly, "Leon, if there were ever a prime target for a terrorist attack, it's this."

Piers looked to Leon, expecting the man to defend the importance of their original mission, but the American agent merely nodded his head and leaned back in his chair.

"Alright, Hunnigan. I trust you. If you say this is important, it's important."

Relief physically changed the woman, her form visibly more relaxed at having his support.

"I'm sure you'll handle our invitations?" He asked with a smirk.

"Of course," she said.

" – Wait a second, you can't be serious," Piers said, almost ready to rise to his feet. "What about our mission? What about the captain and the data chip?"

"Piers – " Leon started, but Hunnigan cut him off.

"Agent Nivans, I'm sorry. This lead takes precedence over recovering the captain and the stolen data. But if my leads are correct, you'll get the next best thing."

The young BSAA agent wanted to demand that they let him off. He'd go to Europe and continue recruiting on his own if he had to, but something about the tone with which Hunnigan used made him pause. He narrowed his eyes.

"And what's that?"

"You'll get your shot at the man I think is pulling all the strings. Albert Wesker."

* * *

[a/n] dun dun duuun!


	17. Gray

Chapter 17: Gray

The sensation of hot water on his shoulders was a blessing he was beginning to fear that he would never experience again. A heavy spray enveloped him, water pressure pounding on his shoulders and loosening muscles that he knew probably weren't actually tense due to the nature of his condition, but _felt tense _none-the-less. He chalked it up to muscle memory. Although he no longer felt the aches and pains of a human body, his skin still remembered what it felt like to be soothed by hot water. The result was enjoyable regardless.

The shower left the bland little bathroom steamy, but did little to limit his vision. Another reminder of what he was now, so Chris closed his eyes and let the spray slick his hair to his head. Water streamed over his forehead and traveled over the skin of his much younger face. No more wrinkles to run through, no more crow's feet to collect at or worry lines to swell in. Just smooth skin and an uneventful journey down his brow and off the tip of his nose. He licked his lips and clenched his fists a little tighter against the shower wall. His skin squeaked against the tile.

The last exercise he went through with Wesker had left him feeling invigorated and conflicted, and he hated it. His skin felt energized, his muscles ready for more. In the past, a hot shower had always done wonders to ease him towards sleep. So as soon as Wesker had cleared him for some time of his own, he headed straight for the shower. Anything to calm down and be something other than what he was – inhuman.

Despite the scorching water and peaceful pounding from the showerhead, his skin still leapt with the electricity and thrill from his last trial.

_The course Wesker had him running was far more intricate than the one he trained his BSAA recruits on. Regardless, he was pretty sure he was still tackling this facility with more ease than he had back in the BSAA. He hurtled boxes, leapt over bars, dove through tight spaces and rolled onto his feet to keep moving. Stress and tension burned in his lungs, spreading fire through his muscles, but still he pressed on. If he had to pause to negotiate a particularly odd obstruction, it didn't take too much time to do so. When he finally got to the end of the course, he leapt up onto the rope that would lead him to the top of the final barricade and pulled himself over. He landed onto his feet on the other side with a hoarse grunt and looked at Wesker expectantly, air whizzing through his nostrils heavily. _

"_Again."_

"_What?" He asked, taken off guard. "What are you talking about, that was damn fast!"_

"_For a human, yes. But you aren't human anymore, so shaving seconds off of your previous abilities means nothing. Again." _

_So he did it again, and again, and again. Hours ticked by; sweat ran from his skin in streams. The more he struggled, the more furious Wesker became. As he came to a halt of yet another run through the course, Wesker grabbed him by the hair at the back of his neck and twisted him back cruelly. Chris snarled, teeth bared but too winded to do more than reach one hand back to grab Wesker's wrist and relieve some of the pressure. Regardless, the blond did not let go._

"_You're holding back!"_

"_Maybe the virus isn't as perfect as you think!" Chris grit out between his teeth with a nasty hiss._

_Wesker gave him an ugly look, one disgusted with his contentment to be nothing more than human. The cold look of contempt in his eyes infuriated the BSAA agent, his blood boiling just beneath his skin. He yanked at Wesker's wrist, but it didn't budge._

"_Your close-minded inability to view these gifts as nothing more than abominations of human genetics is frustrating, Christopher. Why can't you _see_?"_

_Chris freed himself with a final yank and quickly rolled away from Wesker, one hand at the back of his head to soothe the irritated skin he found there. He glared at the other BOW, eyes aflame – aware that his escape had everything to do with the fact that the blond had allowed him to break free, not because he had managed to overpower him in any way._

"_I didn't ask for this!"_

_The blond took a step forward, his gait broad and intimidating as he loomed over the crouched BSAA agent._

"_You did not ask to become an idol to the young men and women of the BSAA either, but regardless, that is what you are," Wesker growled. "At the end of the day, it is not who or what we are, but our actions that are irrevocably connected with what we become."_

_Fury flared through Chris' skin. He rose to his feet, ready to shout. To dart forward and beat his fists against Wesker's face until one of them died. _

"_Tell that to the people who _ate _their loved ones because of the monsters your virus turned them into! I doubt they did that by choice!"_

"_And what about people like your friend on the rooftop, Christopher," Wesker snapped back simply. _

_Piers. Chris opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it. He thought of Piers, the young soldier who fought BOWs tooth and nail beside him. Who journeyed through all of Edonia to find him, who dragged him out of hell multiple times, and who gave up his very molecular identity to ensure that Chris would live to lead the next generation into a time free of bioterrorism. Piers who lived; who decided not to fight the BSAA; who did everything he could to prove that despite what he was, he was still BSAA strong through and through. Piers Nivans – Wesker's final rebuttal. _

_As the truth dawned over Chris' face, Wesker took another step forward, his face twisted into the slightest sneer._

"_Ah yes, there it is. You understand now," he purred. "Now stop using what could happen as an excuse. At the end of the day, Christopher, what you become is your choice. I'll use you either way."_

"_That's not entirely true though, is it," Chris retorted, his eyes narrow. "You don't want the Captain of the BSAA beside you."_

_And then, Wesker smiled knowingly._

"_I don't think that will be a problem for much longer. Again."_

_It was with that last remark hanging heavily between them that Chris turned on his heel, embedded his hand two inches into the stone of the barricade he had scaled with an enraged punch, and made his way back to the beginning of the course. The truth of his situation simmered beneath his skin and scalded the very core of his identity. Despite his pleas that cried that the recent turn of events were not fair, it was time to realize that those events would not change because he simply refused to accept them. He'd take a page from Piers' book. He'd stop viewing his new state of being like an affliction and instead turn it into a weapon with a trigger for his finger only. If Wesker would leave him no quarter on accepting his new abilities, then Chris would at least do so on his own terms. The more he learned about his abilities, the more information he'd be able to gather to use against the blond. _

_When he reached the beginning of the course, he didn't bother to settle into the runner's stance that he had taken every other botched run. He stood at the starting line, head high and eyes searing as he looked past the obstructions to where Wesker waited on the other side. His anger marched around his skin like a forest fire, bright and steaming. Its presence consumed the room, changing the stale air and charging it until something in Wesker's eyes lit up ever so slightly. _

'_Ready, Christopher?' The blond's voice whispered through his mind as if his lips had whispered the words a mere hair from the curve of his ear. But his eyes knew the truth, Wesker's lips never moved. He was speaking to him on a much more intimate level – his mind. The blond wanted it to throw him off; testing his understanding of their conversation. _

_Above him on the far wall, the timer reset to '03' and began to count down, the change of each number partnered with a loud warning chime. 03 – beep; 02 – beep; 01 – bee—_

_His boots left the floor before the last chime had even sounded for more than a fraction of a second. As his first footfall landed, something seemed to pop within him, reminding him of ears popping on an airplane and the sensation of equalizing after too much pressure. Strength flooded him, eradicating the painful burn he had experienced from his other runs. It wasn't new strength, it had been there all along – but whenever he had tried to grab it before, it had slipped through his fingers like sand on a beach. _

_He leapt over barrels, dove between bars, and vaulted over debris. The obstacle course hadn't changed, but he simply _knew it _now. His feet knew where to land, his hands knew where to go, and his body knew how to move to harness the momentum he had accrued. When he ran as a human, he never noticed anything about the operations of his body other than the telltale burn that would accumulate after too much stress. Now he was hyper aware of every mechanism of his body. The way his thighs flexed, the way his fingers worked around obstructions, the way every ligament in his body flowed together to push him forward – everything was not simply working better, it was working perfectly together._

_He didn't need the rope to scale the last barricade. When his feet hit the ground, he didn't need to curl into a crouch to recover. He didn't need a heavy lungful of air to catch up. He stood tall, eyes fierce as he stared Wesker down. _

_Wesker smirked, arms crossed leisurely as he regarded him from behind his sable glasses. Chris didn't need to be told to know he passed. He knew it. He could feel Wesker's satisfaction, the emotion not only thick in the air, but a neural sensation he could feel through his mind. He shut himself against it as best he could, but he could feel the virus trill happily beneath his skin._

"_What is your question this time, Christopher?"_

"_How many people will die because of your virus?"_

_Silence hung between them, and Chris could feel the emotion Wesker had been openly broadcasting change from pleasure to stone before the connection was shut quite forcefully on the blond's side. The blond hadn't been expecting it. _

"_Two thirds."_

_Not approximately two thirds. Not a little more or a little less. Wesker was a man of words. When he actually decided to give an answer about something, he didn't use his words lightly. He used them precisely. Precisely two thirds, he said, and Chris knew it for the truth it was. Two thirds._

_The BSAA agent let out a little huff of laughter, his lungs full with mirth and contempt as he quickly jabbed a finger in Wesker's direction and promised darkly, "You're wrong."_

"_I assure you, my calculations—"_

"_About me, Wesker," Chris cut him off, making the blond's lips purse into a thin, sharp line. "You will never have my loyalty. The only chance you have is _ifyou make me_, and since you say you don't need to, let _me _assure you that between you and me, nothing has changed."_

_Chris walked away without being dismissed. He even allowed himself to shoulder past Wesker, jostling the blond roughly as he passed. The little act of rebellion served to fuel the small light his in chest that had dimmed ever since his captured. It was a candle in the window, a flag on the porch – beckoning the BSAA soldier in him to come home. _

_Halfway out of the training room, he heard Wesker turn to regard him._

"_Interesting… For one so enamored with saving lives, you didn't ask how many would in fact live_," Wesker said, his tone cool and simple.

_Chris stopped and turned to face him._

"_One third is hardly anything to applaud over, Wesker."_

"_I meant as we are. You didn't ask how many people will live simply as we are – as the people we are today that you so dedicatedly wish to protect. It hasn't even occurred to you, has it?_

"_In the United States alone, home of the brave and the privileged, approximately 597,689 people will die from heart disease. 574,743 will die from cancer, 138,080 will die from respiratory diseases, 129,476 from stroke, 120,859 from accidents, 83,494 from Alzheimer's, 69,071 from diabetes, 50,097 from Influenza and Pneumonia, 38,364 from suicide, another 50,097 from miscellaneous syndromes, and 16,259 by the hand of your fellow man. 1.24 million deaths will occur via traffic accidents. __315__,__690__,__232__ people in the United States alone, just as we are. Globally, 24,246 people will succumb to starvation. 35,378,145 to AIDs or HIV related to diseases. 402,387 to Malaria, 2,050,752 to smoking. And that isn't even including wartime figures or terrorism. _

_"There are an estimated 7,119,956,351 people in the world, Christopher, and a good portion of them are going to die the same way they were conceived – slowly and screaming."_

_Silence hung pregnantly between them, extenuating the soft puffs of their breath while Chris glared Wesker down, searching for any sign of dishonesty or exaggeration in the man. Something. Anything. But there it was, the inadequacies of humanity read out to him like a shopping list. A series of inaccurate estimates based upon the best knowledge humanity had of the situation, not including outliers or unknown populations or variables. Trust Wesker to recite death figures like normal people memorize Shakespeare. _

_But death is a part of life. One cannot exist without the other to contrast it and make it so. _

"_At least they get the chance to live," Chris replied._

"_Like you would have had the chance to live had I left you in that hospital room?" _

_A twisted, frustrated snarl curled Chris' lips back to bare his teeth, disgusted with the man in front of him, but he said nothing. He was an honest and opinionated man, but what was there really to say to that. He didn't know, and Wesker knew it. Because when it came down to it, Chris couldn't imagine living a crippled life. Not after so many years of activity. Not when the job he was so passionate about required the ability to move._

_The BSAA agent fully expected Wesker to gloat, but the blond didn't smile. He just gave him a somber look._

"_Heroes and saviors exist because of the decisions they make, Christopher. If those decisions were easy to make, we wouldn't need heroes. We wouldn't even have a word for them." _

The squeal of his hand squeezing into a fist against the slick shower tiles drew him back from the events from a mere hour ago. He breathed heavily through his nose, pupils blown with rage. He cursed the stars that had put him on Wesker's team all those years ago. He cursed the scientists who created the virus, and the men who peddled it, and the people who bought it. He cursed genetics, flaws, and diseases. Because this should easy –black and white, right and wrong. It should be as simple as Wesker is a lunatic and needs to be put down.

Chris pressed his forehead to the shower wall and let the water run over his back and drip onto his face in a heavy stream, water sputtering from his mouth with each breath. Eyes closed, he made sure that Wesker wasn't spying in his head before allowing one, weak thought to break his heart.

It wasn't supposed to be so gray.

* * *

The plane ride was long, and the wait even longer. Sleep eluded Piers, denying him of the only way he knew of to speed up the trip. Leon and Sheva had both managed to catch time to sleep throughout the course of the flight, but he remained awake, wide eyed and twitchy. Alone and aware of what lay ahead. Images from the rooftop seared his eyelids every time he tried to rest, reminding him of the monster that potentially awaited them at the gala. He had seen pictures of the man, of course, but the images didn't truly do the creature named 'Albert Wesker' any justice. They showed what he looked like, but they did nothing to prepare Piers for the raw power and malicious intent he had experienced in Washington, DC.

The thought occurred to him that Chris had been fighting that monster for most of his life. His 'glory years' were dedicated to the apprehension and destruction of the crazed BOW, and now he was the captive of the very lunatic he had devoted himself to destroying. Whom he _had _destroyed. Piers clenched his hands around the armrests of his seat, making the leather whine in helpless protest beneath his fingers. Leon looked his way, but said nothing. Just bright blue eyes, suddenly serious, that knew far more than his laid back posture and friendly grin gave him credit for. The BSAA agent wondered if that was the point.

When the jet landed, Piers was the first to his feet. Like a dog ready to be free from a car, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he waited for the jet to dock and the doors to open. He would have rushed off the very second the attendants opened the door if not for the sudden hand at his shoulder – Leon's hand.

"Cool your jets, kid. You're making everyone nervous."

He looked around to see that he was in fact making the flight crew jumpy. When they weren't trying to get through their tasks as quickly as possible, their eyes would flash towards him only to flick away just as quickly. He tried to think back and remember if he had done anything abnormal on the flight, but he had made sure to behave himself. The cabin lights hadn't flickered, the engines hadn't failed. He didn't eat anyone, he thought with a small shudder of revulsion. Leon leaned towards him, voice hushed as he explained.

"They saw three people board this plane, all injured – but only two needed the first aid kit they provided. People are observant, Piers. You don't need to knock out the lights to make them wonder."

Piers didn't know what to say. Apologize for being a freak? Sorry I infected myself to save the world? What could he do; stop himself from healing? He wondered if he was even able to do that… The confliction on his face must have been apparent despite his attempt to mask it, because the grip on his shoulder turned from reproachful to comforting.

"You can't change what you are, there's no use trying. What you are isn't important. Who you are is. If you're half the man Chris says you are, I have no doubt that you'll figure out how to show them that you're more than a human lighting rod," he said, "You managed it in Africa, after all."

Leon slipped past him as the stairs lowered from the plane. The young BSAA agent watched him go, surprised and a little guilty for thinking the worst of Leon at the start of the flight. His usefulness might be one reason the Secret Agent kept him around, but it was obvious that the blond's trust in him was about more than firepower and circumstances. He had the good grace to feel a little shame before he gave the nearest flight attendant an uncertain glance. The woman was slim and tidy in her uniform, her eyes saucer wide as she looked at him. He gave her a meek smile – just the barest lift at the corners of his lips – but it was enough for her to return an uncertain smile back, eyes downcast and attention returned back to her task lest their interaction expand past her comfort. It was enough to confirm in Piers what Leon said.

His circumstances were all contingent upon his thinking. A BOW might be what he was now, but his identity had not changed. Piers Nivans was what mattered, not the electricity coursing beneath his skin.

"Agent Nivans, are you okay?" Sheva asked from behind him, her face a little older than the pictures he had seen in the Kijuju reports. Despite that, there was still a fire in her eyes, young and fierce as she gave him a concerned look. He nodded.

"Yeah, thanks," he said, then returned her attention to the attendant. "And thank you."

She seemed taken aback at first. Hearing dialogue she must have gotten from a thousand different passengers put her at ease though. She smiled, the quirk to her mouth a little more real as she said, "You're welcome, sir."

He exited the plane and was greeted with the sight of the real Hunnigan standing beside Leon on the tarmac. She was the spitting image of the holograms the little box had been showing them all this time, although more vibrant and solid. They were talking casually, the language of their bodies familiar and comfortable with one another. He recognized the strength of their partnership immediately, the sort of bond formed by years of working with each other – as obvious in Leon and Hunnigan as it was in Chris and Jill before everything that happened in DC.

As he reached them, he realized that there was a small group of National Security operatives surrounding them, eyes focused but weapons at ease as they watched everyone get off of the plane. Piers stopped beside Leon and looked over as Sheva took her place beside him. Hunnigan looked at all three of them, her gaze sharp and considering as she judged their physical conditions. Once she was satisfied, she addressed them properly.

"Branch Commander Alomar, Agent Nivans. Thank you for agreeing to assist with this mission," She said and turned on heel, motioning for them to follow her, "If you would be so kind as to follow me, I'll take you to the briefing room."

* * *

[a/n] The statistics are shaky - which I figure it okay since this is a fanfiction. I based them off of worldometers (website) and FastStats (Center for Disease Control and Prevention website). In other news, actual action is coming. WHAAAT?! Yeah, I know…it's been a while. Sorry! XD As always, thank you guys for all the support. I adore you!


	18. Westbarl Mansion

Chapter 18: Westbarl Mansion

They spent more time in the briefing room than Piers really thought was necessary. Years - it felt like years, even though mere hours slipped between his fingers. But every hour was another hour the already cold trail to his captain grew colder. Regardless, he tried to focus. If Sheva could leave her base and men behind for this mission, he could put his dead trail on the back burner, too - bitterly.

Hunnigan made sure to explain to them what their jobs were. That they were to maintain their covers as representatives and not active agents at all costs. She shoved instructions down their throats, pushed them into ridiculously nice clothing, and all but shoved them into a limo with little more grace than an overburdened mother with a gaggle of unruly children. Granted, Piers ruefully figured that's probably what they looked like - unruly children unwilling to sit still in their nice clothes and shiny shoes.

The only person who appeared to be at ease in the uncomfortably expensive clothing was Leon; his suit fit him like a second skin and blended into his persona as if it were his normal attire. Piers, on the other hand, felt like a little boy who had managed to wriggle into his father's clothing. The suit fit him like a glove - a note that made him uneasy, when he realized that Hunnigan never actually _asked him _his size - but even so, it still looked off on him. A little too big, like he hadn't properly grown into it yet. Hunnigan had made a show of trying to adjust it when she saw him, a scowl splattered on her face as she tugged his coat sleeves this way and that, but there was nothing to do for it. He looked superbly boyish in a grown man's suit, and it made him doubly frustrated on top of his peeve of having to wear it in the first place.

His scowl, which Leon had already called a pout twice, didn't help.

Sheva was doing a little better than him, but only a little. Her dress was beautiful and sleek, and fit her like a charm. She didn't look out of place, but she didn't look like she belonged in it like Leon managed to do. The pale purple of the glittering garment complimented her dark, creamy skin gorgeously - like lavender flowers against pale coffee beans. The sight of her made something warm prickle across his forearms, but he didn't quite notice it beneath the frustration of his awkward suit and the mission that was derailing their true goal: finding Chris.

After a few frail jokes from Leon that ended in awkward silence and a few throaty coughs to clear the air, the ride became long and stuffy. Piers watched trees pass their tinted windows while Sheva and Leon broke the quiet to discuss the plan.

"Do you think it's a good idea to separate the way Hunnigan has in mind?" Sheva asked as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's not ideal, considering the circumstances, but it's the best we can do considering there's three of us and three objectives: Westbarl, Jake, and research about the cure. At least you and Piers'll be close since both of your objectives will be in the ballroom together."

"True..."

Their conversation tapered off innocently each time they hit a check point. Each check point, seven in all, involved their limo being stopped, the engine cutting off, and each of them - driver included - stepping out to be identified and checked for weapons. The process was unnecessary and timely and frustrating. Piers had never been a patient man, but each stop made him more and more on edge. After their sixth stop, he was practically seething. Leon had to use some fancy word work to convince the security guard that, _yes_, Piers had in fact been talking about how excited he was and, _no_, he had not muttered "this is fucking ridiculous" when the guard had caught his mumbled, terse remark. When they climbed back into the limo, it had only taken one stern look for Piers to feel properly shamed. He didn't show it, his face a careful and indifferent mask, but he did manage to coax some better manners into himself before they reached the last checkpoint.

Which was probably the only useful checkpoint, in Piers' opinion, considering it involved them switching to a privately secured vehicle to be escorted the last bit of the way to the gala. With a security guard driving them instead of their government driver, Piers didn't feel safe enough to say what he was thinking, but he already knew with a quick, casual glance that the others were thinking it too.

There had been a lot of useless security, and useless security was only good for one thing - appearances. Which meant that something else was moving in the background to make security lax, and nothing good could possibly come from that. The fact that the black clad guardsmen were not readily identifiable to any known agency didn't help any either. They weren't BSAA, NSA, FBI, or CIA; so who were they? Despite their visible rifles and handguns, they felt more like an empty threat to Piers than anything else.

When their vehicle finally came to a halt outside the gala, Piers didn't have to pretend to be in awe of the mansion the event was being held at. It was huge, more expansive than any building he had seen outside of government control. The architecture was old, surely, but only in style. The actual building itself couldn't be more than a handful of years old - the wood work still gleaming and perfect, the paint still radiant, and the roofing still flawless. It glimmered brightly like a star against the cool night sky, the party lights twinkling through the numerous thin floor to ceiling windows that spanned most of the building. Even from out here on the lawn, he could make out the twirl of colorful dresses and the glimmer of wine glasses in gloved hands. The cost of the building allowing could have fueled nations; the cost of the party inside, another dozen at least.

A soft noise - the sound of Leon politely clearing his throat - caught his attention. With boyishly large eyes, he spun around just in time to see the older man casually tip his chin in the direction of the limo where Sheva was beginning to exit the vehicle. Without further prompting, Piers quickly fumbled out an apology as he offered his hand. She rolled her eyes at both of them, but accepted his help. Once she was out of the car, he offered his elbow.

With her hand tucked in his arm, the three of them gave each other a knowing look before starting the long trek up the stone walkway to the mansion. Although the security guard that had escorted them there left when they exited the limo, they kept their voices down as they spoke during this last moment of reprieve.

"Everyone remember their jobs?" Sheva asked.

"How could we forget? Hunnigan just about tattooed it to my eardrums," Leon said. There was a bit of grumpiness to his tone, but Piers could see the smile that spread across the other man's face, too. He wondered if something was there - but it didn't quite feel like romance, to him. Maybe sibling camaraderie...

He didn't get to think or say much more than that before they were at the door and being escorted into the mansion. The inside was just as elaborate as the outside. The hall that Erek Westbarl was hosting the gala in was more than extravagant, it was extreme. The ceilings arched at least four stories into the sky, held up in swooping arcs and crowning that all twirled up into a center point shaped elegantly like the sun. At its middle, a huge centerpiece dangled above them – easily as large as two stories in and of itself as it hung like a giant inferno amidst all the grand architecture. It was a series of glass plates, all of different sizes, all hanging at different lengths – the light reflecting off of them and onto one another in such harmony that it looked like a star caught from heaven and put in the heart Westbarl's mansion.

The hall itself was huge. It could house three of the largest convention halls Piers had ever been in easily. Colonnades framed the reception area, each one decorated with twirls of lights that fitted over the pillars like ivy, tiny twinkling lights peeking out from fake leaves. Rows of tables were spattered here and there throughout the hall, each covered with white linen so bright, they twinkled brightly in the dim gala area.

Piers had never seen anything like it. He had been to the weddings of good friends, the celebrations of badges of honor, and the funerals of exceptional men – and never had he seen anything so grandeur. He wrinkled his nose the slightest bit, but managed to hold back most of his disgust as he peeked over the shoulder of the body guard standing in front of them.

"Names, please."

He resisted the urge to protest; to tell the oafishly large man that manned this last and final checkpoint that they had already identified themselves at the past seven rendezvous points. Instead, he pulled the BSAA badge Hunnigan had created for him from his breast pocket and handed it over beside the ID that Sheva was holding out beside him. His cover was mostly true. It was his picture and he _was _with the BSAA. But Hunnigan crafted a cover ID for him given the nature of his current status with the organization. He doubted that National Security would approve of a BOW attending a gala specifically celebrating the doom of its species.

"Agent Benjamin Curtis of the BSAA, Protective Officer; and Branch Commander Sheva Alomar of the BSAA, dignitary of the African Branch," the guard said, his lips close to the radio attached to the inside of his wrist. He waited a moment, his eyes glazed slightly as he focused on whoever was on the other side of the line. Piers could count several ways in which he could easily bypass the overly obnoxious and useless security measures that they had encountered thus far, which didn't give him high hopes for a peaceful evening.

"Your identification has been approved," the man said. Piers couldn't help but mutter a soft, annoyed "again" beneath his breath, which earned him the stink eye from the security guard.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Piers said as he composed a professional, charming smile onto his face. "Which way to our table?"

"Not my job, buddy." The guard waved at them to pass, his eyes already onto the next potential terrorist as Sheva gently wound her arm into the younger man's elbow and led him into the gala.

"This is a joke," Piers whispered to her without breaking his small smile. She returned the smile in kind as she replied seriously, "This doesn't bode well."

Before they could get any further, two young women stopped them at the final arch leading into the reception area. In each of their hands was a slab of folded velvet. With nimble fingers, they both revealed the contents of the velvet to the BSAA agents, their smiles beautiful and plastic as they regarded them.

"Courtesy of Mr. Erek Westbarl. He asks that all attendees please wear these complimentary masks in honor of the evening's celebrations," one woman said, her voice smooth like butter and barren of thought – the words of a woman on autopilot, just trying to get through the night.

"The masks we are presenting you with are specifically designed to commemorate our brothers and sisters in the BSAA," the other woman said, her voice rich and mechanical as well. "As you will come to find throughout the night, every dignitary is wearing different masks in order for party-goers to identify their origins. We ask that you do not trade or remove your mask throughout the course of the gala. Mr. Westbarl will explain when it will be acceptable to remove your gift."

The two women then held the masks out to them. Both of the masks were cut to cover only half of the face – a small blessing, in Piers' opinion. Both masks were painted in BSAA green and framed in gold, the planes of the porcelain smooth and form fitting. Words were carved very lightly beneath either eye of both masks, the language Latin and nearly indistinguishable. Before he had a chance to ask the women what the words meant, they were being ushered forward into the reception area with a quick, "We thank you in advance for respecting the terms Mr. Westbarl has requested of you."

And then they were standing in a sea of silk dresses, black bow ties, and glossy masks. Piers had been to costume parties before, but the uniformly covered faces of porcelain and paint were disturbing here and now. Each mask soothed the expression from its owner's face, turning the gathering of celebrating people into a crowd of blank smiles and shadowed eyes. It was disconcerting and unsettling, putting Piers on edge. He couldn't identify anyone. He'd look at someone, look away for one second, and by the time he tried to look back – they were gone, consumed into the void of masks the reception area had become.

"How the hell are we going to pull this off when we can't see who we're looking for?" Piers whispered.

"Beats me. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to put a bunch of high ranking military and global officials into one room and give them masks. This goes against every bone in National Security's body," Leon said as he stepped up onto Piers' other side. His mask was already in place, black with gold trim. It made his eyes shine even brighter from within the pits of the eye holes. He smirked. "Glad it's not my job to find anyone. But I have plenty of faith in you two."

Piers shot the man a glower.

"Hunnigan's right. They're too many things off for this to be normal," Sheva said.

"Which means it's a good thing that we decided to come," the American agent said as he gently pulled a flute of champagne from a waiter walking by, his suave hands plucking the crystal glass from the platter without dislodging any of the other flutes. "You two enjoy the party. I have business to stick my nose in."

Piers watched as Leon strolled away, his body adopting a completely different element all unto itself as he walked through small clusters of party-goers and exchanged words with men he pretended to know. From behind, it was like watching a completely different man. Someone who belonged here, rubbing elbows with the world's finest. Piers almost couldn't recognize him.

"Come on," Sheva said as she squeezed his elbow lightly to get his attention. "We need to keep our eyes out for Westbarl and Jake."

When they got to their table, it was just as another man was leaving it – his smile polite despite the sick paleness of his skin as he excused himself. Piers didn't have a chance to catch much of the man's face, or at least whatever the mask would allow him to catch, but he did take note of the strong build of the man as he departed. Broad shoulders, compact frame, tall. Dark hair. Unfamiliar, in the end; it wasn't Jake. So he moved his attention unto the rest of the table.

There were two women already sitting at the table. One in a dark, velvety dress and the other in a simpler cut – both chattering excitedly about children. Upon Sheva's prying, the woman in the simple dress – Dr. Maria Houston, or so she introduced herself – explained that the other woman had just announced that she was with child. Piers gave her an awkward congratulations, unsure of what to say. He was used to locker talk. The sheer number of forks on the table before him was making him sweat. Why the hell would anyone need so many forks? Was he really going to need _that many _forks? He wasn't even sure if the far left thing was even big enough to be considered a spoon.

The pregnant woman was glowing from her skin with happiness, her smile plump and living on her face, but as Piers pulled out Sheva's chair for her to sit, he realized what it was about the woman that seemed so off. It was her eyes – dark and pale beneath her lashes; cool and shuttered tight. They weren't the eyes of a mother-to-be.

"My name is Sheva Alomar, I'm the representative of the African branch of the BSAA," he heard Sheva say distantly from beside him. "And this is Benjamin Curtis, my escort for the night. It's an honor to meet all of you. Have we missed much?"

"No, you haven't," the strange woman said, her polite smile infectious. "Well, actually that's not quite true, you did miss my husband. He's the director of the security firm that protected the facility where they created the cure."

"What does your mask mean?" Piers blurted out, interrupting the calm mood of their table talk with his less than friendly tone. Sheva looked at him sharply, but didn't reprimand him.

The blonde woman's fingers lingered lightly over her mask for a moment as if she had forgotten it, then smiled. "I believe the women in the front explained that it was gold to commemorate the importance of family. I'm not a representative of anything like you two, but I am my husband's "plus one". So I suppose anyone wearing the same mask as me is a family member or spouse. Isn't that right, Mr. Norton?"

The man she directed her question to bristled; Piers wasn't sure why.

"When my husband comes back, you'll see his. Dark blue, I think."

"Ah." Piers didn't feel like he had any more information than he did a moment ago, though. The idle chat picked up again after that. Sheva was far better at keeping their conversation afloat and aloof than he was. She spurred the conversation effortlessly; keeping the table's attention off of Piers as he discreetly looked around the gala.

He could see movement by the empty stage, a huddle of people talking. They weren't dressed quite as elegantly as the rest of the party-goers, so he could only assume that they were technicians assisting with the stage equipment. As they talked, one of them gestured a quick thumbs up to someone behind the stage where Piers couldn't see.

The lights all around them began to dim slowly. Piers scanned the rest of the ballroom to see if people would begin to take their seats, and as he did, he saw the man that had left their table advancing towards them. The man was in fact wearing a deep blue mask, just as his wife had said. Halfway to their table, the man stumbled – still looking a little too pale and a little too green for Piers' comfort. He watched as the woman's husband grabbed onto a nearby table to steady himself mere seconds before it was too dark to really see him anymore. Piers gently grabbed Sheva by her forearm, ready to point out the strange behavior when his attention was brought instead to the stage.

Westbarl was getting ready to speak, and Jake Muller was with him.

"There's your objective," Sheva whispered to him, her hand tight on his forearm.

"Right. And there's yours," he said. Something about his tone must have piqued her concern, because she looked at him fully at that moment.

"Leon told me about your history. Edonia and China… Is it going to be a problem?"

"You just worry about Westbarl," Piers said, "I'll handle _Subject Zero_."

* * *

[a/n] Sorry it took forever! I know I say this every time, but if it's possible - work has gotten CRAZIER! We're coping with being understaffed and trying to train new people while keeping up with a heavy work load, so it's been hard to keep up with Both Sides of the Gun. I also kept losing my flash drive... But here's the good news! The next TWO chapters are nearly done! The bad news? The action didn't happen in this chapter...sorry! XD Also, sorry if this chapter lacks a bit of the normal luster - I was having a hell of time trying to get it to work.


End file.
